


The Roots of Pain

by evilwriter37



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Doctor Whump, Gen, physical and emotional, torture fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwriter37/pseuds/evilwriter37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the book, The Roots of Evil in the 50th Anniversary Collection. The Doctor committed a crime long ago that the victims refuse to forget. 900 years later, he returns, finding that their society has grown around their hate for him. As clever as he is, he can't escape the cruel punishment that has been meticulously planned out for him, generation after generation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Quite an impressive statue, though, you messed up on my nose. Made it a bit too long," the Doctor commented, tapping the part of his face in mention, the chains around his wrists clinking together. His guards' glares just deepened when they looked at him, their fingers tightening around their sharpened, wooden spears.

He hadn't meant to get himself captured, hadn't even meant to come here in the first place. These people hated him, for good reason, he supposed. From his perspective, he had been the good guy and these people had been the bad ones, but everyone was good in their own story.

"We wanted to remember what you looked like so that we would know if you came," one of the guards said. Her name was Aggie. The Doctor wondered if it was short for anything.

"Splendid. Now, what exactly do you plan on doing with me?" He was trying inconspicuously to fumble his sonic screwdriver out of the inside pocket of his jacket. It would release his cuffs and then he would be able to escape this place. It was called a Heligan Tree, a giant structure that came to the size of a small planet. These people lived here because of him. Around 900 years ago, he had kicked them off a planet they were trying to colonize and sent them off into space with hardly enough fuel to get anywhere. His reasoning had been that they were trying to wipe out the natives of the planet, something he was absolutely not going to sit by and let happen. He had betrayed these humans and sided with the natives to help them get their planet back. Apparently, generation after generation of these people had loathed him ever since.

"We will take you to trial," the Justiciar said. She was a tall, graying woman with a stern face, her form wrapped in green robes.

"But he already admitted who he is," Aggie said. She looked at him with a sneer, and his skin prickled uncomfortably. Was it really possible to sustain hate for so long? "We all know what he did. He's the Doctor, the man who betrayed our ancestors."

"They were trying to wipe out a native species to take a planet for their own!" the Doctor protested, becoming frustrated. Was he never going to make them see?

"A lesser species," Aggie said. "You won't be able to sway us. Every one of us have heard stories about the Terrible Doctor since we were babes. Manipulation will be useless."

The Justiciar glared at Aggie. "My job is to put him to trial and judge him."

"We all know he's guilty, Justiciar," Aggie sneered. "And we all know his punishment."

"And what might that be?" he asked, fear beginning to churn his stomach, hand still searching through his pocket. There had to be a way to get out of this! He was the master at escaping things!

"What have you got in your jacket?" Aggie asked, poking her spear at his chest. He quickly lowered his hands, clearing his throat.

"N-Nothing. Just looking for a handkerchief. I've got allergies, you see, and-"

"Strip him!"

"What? No! Don't touch me! Stop that!" A few of the guards had instantly come forward and were slicing his clothes away with their spears. His sonic screwdriver rolled out of the remains of his purple jacket, which Aggie bent to pick up, looking at it curiously. He was going to say something, but choked as his bow tie was violently torn off his neck.

"Stop! Can't I at least keep my trousers?!"

The guards froze, looking to Aggie for confirmation. She just nodded her head, then held up the sonic screwdriver.

"What's this?"

"It's mine. It's called a sonic screwdriver." The Doctor glared at her, though he knew he wouldn't be threatening in his current state, chained up and half naked. He was starting to feel very vulnerable.

"What's it do?"

Before he could give an answer, her thumb slipped over the button and she pressed it, expression curious. The chains suddenly fell away from his wrists, and with a shout of triumph, he shoved her and the surprised guards out of the way, and took off.

"Get him!"

The Doctor felt a burst of adrenaline as he sprinted away from his captors, but he began to feel hopeless as soon as he realized that he didn't have a plan. The TARDIS had been grabbed by vines first thing it had landed and he didn't even know how to get back to it. He didn't even have a shirt, for crying out loud!

His ponderings were interrupted as he was approached by guards with pointed spears at his front. He swiveled around on the dirt floor, looking for an escape, but it cost him time, and soon, he was surrounded on all sides.

"What do you want?" the Doctor gasped out, chest heaving from running.

"We want you to be punished," Aggie said, coming forward.

"But why?"

"You ruined our lives and left us here! We had absolutely nothing! Only each other and that broken ship you sent us off in! You betrayed us and shattered our hopes! Don't you think you should pay for that?" Her brown eyes were fierce with an angry fire that made the Doctor's knees go a bit weak.

"I don't think I get a say in all this."

"No, you don't." She made a motion with her hands and the guards closed around him, the chains going back on his wrists. His struggles were just met with spear points that nearly pierced his skin.

Oh, how am I going to get out of this? I always get out of things like this. Come on. Anytime now. I should be making my brilliant escape.

"You know," he commented to Aggie, "you have such a sweet name, for being such a fierce girl."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It's only short for: Agony Will Be The Doctor's Eternal Punishment."

The Doctor swallowed hard, mouth going dry. He looked around nervously at the other people around him, spears still too close for comfort.

"Do you all have names like that?"

Aggie laughed, seeming to enjoy his fear. "Go on! Why don't you all tell him you names?"

Voices began to rise around him, and the words he could interpret twisted his stomach. How could these people hate him so much?

"Misery Will Be The Doctor's Final Emotion."

"Revenge Upon The Doctor."

"Eternal Pain For The Doctor."

"Death Is The Doctor's Rightful Place."

"Enough!" He suddenly screamed. He couldn't take it anymore. His fear was becoming a pulsing, living thing that nearly left him shaking. All these names… These people really named their children after their hate for him? Their loathing had driven their entire culture!

Aggie just smiled, and it sent a chill up the Doctor's spine.

"What do you think, Doctor?"

"I think that you're all raving lunatics!"

"Says the man who left us like this!" She came close, and he was forced back a step as her spear came up to his neck. He winced as the points at his back pricked at his skin.

"Aggie," one of the women said. "You mustn't kill him now. He has to face his punishment."

Aggie looked at the woman who had spoken, then back at the Doctor. It seemed an agonizingly long time before she finally stepped away.

"Very well. Bring him." She turned and began walking down one of the passageways, its walls coated in green leaves and vines. The Doctor had no other choice but to follow, completely surrounded by spears that kept prodding him to move forward.

The journey to wherever they were taking him was made in tense silence, and the Doctor kept trying to form escape plans in his head, but none of them were good enough to actually work. Whatever he did, it seemed as if he was stuck here.

He was forced into a dimly lit room with a domed ceiling of curving branches, the floor still dirt beneath their feet. Everything about it was unremarkable except for the chair that sat in the middle of the room. He didn't even know if it could be called a chair. The sight of it knocked him to his knees in the dirt and he had to be hoisted to his feet, body shaking, limbs gone weak and useless.

"Like it?" Aggie asked, a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

The Doctor didn't even look at her, horrified gaze still on that thing in the middle of the room. Dear god, that was meant for him, wasn't it?

There were three metal rings around the chair, one above, and two on either side. They were like halos from hell, each one holding various instruments of torture: blades of different sizes and designs, blowtorches, implements meant to crush his bones, syringes filled with colorful liquids that were probably acids and other horrible things… the list went on and on. And on the chair there were metal clamps that seemed like they would fit perfectly to his body: two for his wrists, two for his ankles, and one for his neck. It even looked like the back of the chair could be opened so that some of the tortures could be administered to his back.

"Now you can finish stripping him," Aggie said. "Wouldn't want clothes getting in the way of all that, now would we?"

The Doctor kicked and struggled as two guards began to undo his trousers. One took his foot right in the face and lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious.

"Hold him!" Aggie snapped angrily, rushing over to pull the unconscious man out of the way.

At this order, an arm suddenly wrapped around the Doctor's neck, choking him, a spear point coming to rest in the middle of his chest. He frantically brought up his manacled hands to try to pull the crushing arm away, feet still kicking, body still fighting to get away. He had to get out of this!

There were other spears pointed at him now, but he didn't care. The Doctor continued to fight madly. He even resorted to sinking his teeth into the arm that was around his neck. For that, he received a blow in the head and he lost his grip, the arm squeezing even tighter. If he hadn't had the respiratory bypass system, he assumed he would have been unconscious by now.

Sadly, his trousers had already been unbuttoned and his struggling had brought them down to his knees, but he at least had his boxers on. The fight wasn't to stay clothed; it was to stay away from that chair.

The Doctor froze, jaw dropping as a pained scream failed to leave his mouth, only coming out as a choked gurgle, as a spear suddenly entered the soft flesh of his right thigh. His eyes met Aggie's satisfied gaze, and she drove the spear in a little deeper, causing him to flinch and kick out with his left leg. His face had gone red from the exertion and the crushing arm around his neck.

"You're quite the fighter," she said, drawing a whimper from his lips as she gave the spear a twist. "As a warrior, I can't help but admire that, even though you are giving us quite a lot of trouble."

The Doctor was in no position to respond, his voice taken from him for the moment. Besides, he didn't even have anything clever to say.

He managed a gasp as Aggie yanked the spear out, the movement trailing blood through the air.

"Go on. Finish undressing him. I doubt he'll be much trouble now."

And he wasn't. The combination of pain and hopelessness left him feeling weak, and soon he was barefoot and naked, clothes thrown into a corner of the room. This was meant to humiliate him, and it was working, making him feel embarrassed and vulnerable. He was left with no protection, not that clothing even gave protection from weapons, but now he was left to eyes that glared at him and scrutinized him, sized him up and examined him.

"Hmm," Aggie mused. "I'd actually find you attractive if I didn't hate you so much. Bring him to the chair."

The Doctor's bare feet scrabbled in the dirt as he was dragged forward, arm still painfully tight around his neck. His movements worsened the burning in his leg, but all his instincts screamed at him to escape and flee, to get away from the pain that awaited him. A hard punch in the stomach stopped his movements, body involuntarily trying to double over at the blow that left his captors in full control.

He was forced into the chair, the metal cold under his naked skin. Before he could react to this new environment, the clamps were being fastened. His neck was released just for it to once again be captured, the metal cold and threatening on his throat, making the situation feel even more real. He wanted to be sick. Fear was running rampant through his body, gushing ice through his veins, forcing his hearts to beat painfully fast, the sound bouncing off his skull.

Badadadump. Badadadump. Badadadump.

From his vantage point, the Doctor realized that there were cameras positioned above the doorway, trained on him, their lifeless lenses almost seeming to glare like everyone else in the room.

"You're filming this?" His voice was a hoarse squeak. He looked to Aggie for an answer. She and the rest of the guards had stepped back a few feet, eyes all on him.

"Yep. And it's being broadcasted live. Everyone here will see and hear your punishment."

'Oh, that's even better. I'm not even left on my own.'

"And what is my punishment?" His voice was only a little stronger than the squeak it had been before.

Aggie laughed as if he had made a joke. "Oh, don't pretend to be stupid! You're going to be left to die in this chair!"

"And how long will that take?"

She just smirked at him. "As long as you and your body can endure. This was made from parts of the spaceship that we arrived here in. We saved the very best for you, Doctor." She said the name distastefully. "Shall we turn it on?"

"No, no! Please!" She pulled some sort of remote out of her pocket, her fingers dancing over the buttons teasingly. "You can't do this to me! Please!"

"Yes I can, Doctor. We all can. I'm fulfilling my name." She pressed one button and the metal halo above his head started slowly rotating. "Where should we start?"

"Stop! You can't do this! Please!" There were terrified tears rolling down his cheeks, and he didn't care that he was crying. He couldn't believe that he was in this situation, that he was stuck.

"Or maybe we should start over here."

The ring above his head stopped spinning, the one to his right beginning to move. It angled close to him as it stopped spinning, a syringe filled with yellow liquid poised above his forearm. He struggled uselessly against his restraints, every nerve in his body crying to be let out.

"I wonder what this does."

He gasped as the machine jabbed the needle into his arm, but it was gone as soon as it had emptied the yellow fluid into his veins. He could feel the invasion in his body, feel the liquid forcing its way through his bloodstream, but other than make him uncomfortable at the sensation, it didn't really seem to do anything.

Aggie frowned at his lack of a reaction, pressed another button. The ring on his left swiveled and a small, sharp blade had suddenly entered his arm at the elbow. He gave a cry at the sudden burst of sharp pain. It shouldn't have hurt that much. Why did it hurt so much?

'Ah, damn, it was the yellow stuff.' As the blade began to work its way down his arm, still slicing his skin, he realized that the liquid had somehow penetrated his nervous system and made it more sensitive.

'As if it wasn't sensitive enough already.'

He flinched and tried to jerk his arm away, gritting his teeth against a scream that was threatening to come out. His feet and hands struggled against their restraints, his body trying hopelessly to get out of the chair. A cry parted his lips as the knife continued down his arm, sickened by the sight and the feeling of his skin being torn away by it. When it reached his wrist, the section of flesh fell away, leaving his forearm vulnerable and aching and bleeding. He was gasping from the pain that shot through his nerves, pained and terrified tears stinging at his eyes.

"Why don't we cauterize that?" Aggie suggested, pleasure resonating in her voice. "Don't want you dying from blood loss in the next hour, now do we?"

"N-No," the Doctor groaned, eyes still glued to his arm, shock beginning to resonate through his body. Had he really just had part of his skin removed? "H-Hurts more than it should. That yellow stuff-"

"So, that's what it did," Aggie interrupted, pressing a button. The ring on the left began to spin again, stopping on a blowtorch. "Want me to take pity on you? Poor, poor, Doctor." Her voice dripped with acid.

His back arched, bringing his neck tight against the metal, as the blowtorch turned on, hot flame licking at his bleeding flesh. He couldn't fight to hold in his scream this time. Unbearable heat was crashing against his nerves, body once again fighting wildly to get out of the chair. He knew that he wouldn't have any voice by the end of this.

'Oh, god, I'm going to die here.' When the realization hit him, he just screamed even louder, in emotional and physical agony. That wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to be tortured to death as some helpless victim. That was never how he had imagined it ending.

Then, he realized that it was better that he was going to die. He didn't want to imagine what it would be like if he had any regenerations left. This would keep going and going until he didn't, but this was his last body, so the only thing he had to worry about was this single death.

He was left panting with his head drooping as the blowtorch turned off. His eyes flicked over to his arm, finding the flesh charred and blackened. The scent wrinkled his nose in disgust, and it was hard to believe that it was coming from him.

"There we go." Aggie sounded pleased. "Let's see what else this thing can do."

The Doctor jumped as she pressed a button and something closed over the toes on his right foot. Despite the pain he was in, he couldn't help but look down at it curiously, fringe of dark hair falling in front of his face. His toes were encased in a circular device that looked like it would tighten and crush them. He had the urge to either scream hysterically in terror or vomit all over the floor. Instead, he only reacted by remaining perfectly still.

"Fascinated?" Aggie asked him, finger lingering over a switch.

The Doctor looked at her, and he was surprised that he didn't stutter when he spoke. "Won't you get bored of doing this? Maybe even tired? You're human. You'll need to sleep."

"And then someone will take over for me," she told him blandly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And then her finger flipped the switch and there was a series of crunches as the metal tightened around his toes. The Doctor choked out a scream as his toes cracked and broke, fire racing all the way up to his hip. Hot tears dribbled down his face.

"Stop it," he groaned. "Stop this. You have to. Please."

The metal was removed from his toes and the halo above his head began rotating.

"Funny," Aggie commented. "Didn't take you for the begging type."

"I'm usually not," he grunted in response, eyes squeezed shut, trying to endure the pain in his body.

It's just a stupid sensation, he told himself. Just a little sensation. I can block it out if I want to, can't I? No, no, I can't. Not when it's like this.

"Well, I guess I just bring out the best of you."

The Doctor gasped and twisted his head as a needle suddenly entered his neck, trying desperately to get away from it. The clamp around his neck held him mostly in place. And then the burning started, a horrible sensation that started where the needle had penetrated his skin and radiated outwards. A loud scream crawled its way up from his throat, almost as if showing how much it hurt would help somehow. He felt air on his back as the back of the chair slid away, leaving more of his flesh exposed. Just as the burning was intensifying, something stabbed into the top of his spine, and an electric shock jolted through him, causing his body to shake and his hair to stand on end. And it just continued. One shock after another, after another, and they just kept getting worse, as did the burning induced by whatever had been injected through his neck. His muscles strained against the immobile restraints, screams still gushing from his mouth and echoing around the domed ceiling. He couldn't take this anymore!

And then it stopped, and the Doctor was left with a throbbing agony throughout his nerves. He leaned his head back and moaned, realizing that whatever had been stabbed into his back to shock him was still there.

"You getting the hang of it yet, Doctor?" Aggie's voice taunted.

"Sh-Shut up."

"Oh, that wasn't very nice."

Another shock came, so white-hot and powerful that his body jerked of its own accord and he couldn't even scream, white sparks clashing around him. He nearly lost consciousness, feeling as if his whole nervous system had caught on fire. He couldn't find his voice, couldn't move besides tightening his already taut muscles. Then it was gone, and he slumped heavily back in the chair, nerves and veins burning alike.

"How did that feel?"

"Lovely!" the Doctor shouted at her, straightening in the chair, eyes flashing with anger. "Why don't you do it again, bitch?!" He wasn't usually one for swearing, but he felt that it was more than okay to do so in this situation.

Aggie just shook her head and clicked her tongue, pressing another button on her remote. The shock came again, and the Doctor involuntarily arched his back, choking himself against the metal restraint around his neck. This time, he did lose consciousness, but only for a few seconds.

"Come on!" he screamed, once he regained his senses, hurt and angry. If he was going to die, he wanted to go out defiantly. "Is that all you've got?!"

"I think I liked it better when you were begging."

The rings on either side of him rotated simultaneously and whips suddenly came down on his thighs. He jerked and gave a cry, skin twitching at the pain. That had been too close to his manhood for his liking.

Another shock was administered through his spinal cord and the Doctor's whole body tried to arch away from it. He could barely find his voice, and he was instead left gasping. The whips came down again, and the slices they made hurt like hell. One ended up licking at his groin and he was left with agony coursing up through his stomach, unable to find his breath. The electricity continued to violently work its way through his body and he gave a pained cry every time the whips came down, body twisting and turning as best as it could in the restraints.

When it stopped, the Doctor was fighting the nausea rising in his throat, quivering from fright and pain, face wet with tears. Sobs racked his body. He spoke, but he couldn't bring himself to look at his tormentor.

"Just kill me already."

"What's the magic word?" He could hear the smile in Aggie's voice.

"Please!" he sobbed. "Please, just kill me! Finish it!"

"There we go. Back to begging. Lovely."

The shocks started again, this time accompanied by metal clamping around the toes on his left foot and squeezing tight, crushing and shattering. The Doctor screamed and sobbed, his own voice beginning to ache in his throat. And then the same device trapped the fingers on both hands. The electricity stopped, accentuating the sound of his bones snapping.

"Stop it!"

"So hard to think that this is only the beginning!" Aggie called over his screams.

'No, no! Someone help me! I can't be stuck here! Oh god, it hurts so much!'

He hissed and fought as needles entered his arms and his neck. What sort of atrocious things were being injected into him now?

The Doctor's whole body went limp, causing his panic to increase tenfold. One thing seemed to have paralyzed him from the neck down. Another, he could feel eating away at his veins, burning its way out towards the rest of his body. He found himself sobbing as it seeped out through his skin, leaving trails of blood and burning green liquid. Something else brought the liquid fire back into his veins, and his sobs turned into screams as it raced through his body. One of the other injections seemed to have set his skin tingling, making it as sensitive as ever, making even the slightest flow of air over it hurt.

It was the worst thing he had ever felt when the whips came down again, slashing at his thighs, his stomach, even his back, and all he could move was his head, which he threw back with a scream so loud it felt like it bruised his vocal chords. That didn't matter. This agony he was somehow enduring mattered.

"Please stop! Please! You have to stop!"

Aggie apparently had no intention of listening to his pleas. A blowtorch suddenly came down on his chest, burning his skin to a crisp. The affected area didn't hurt so much, not now that the nerve endings had been burned away. It was the area around it that blazed and ached. He couldn't believe that the whips were still going along with this.

Metal clamped around his hands and they were broken with a sickening crunch that choked off his scream. He forgot how to breathe, to think, to do anything.

"Please," was all he was able to murmur before he lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor meets one of his more interesting tormentors.

Aggie felt a surge of anger as the room fell silent, The Doctor's body having gone limp. She stalked up to him and slapped him across the face, which he didn't respond to.

"Wake up, dammit!" She jabbed her finger at a button on the remote that controlled the machine, sending a shock through his body. He jerked and groaned, but didn't open his eyes.

"Hello in there, Doctor!" She slapped him again, his head tilting to the side, but there was no reaction from him.

"Aggie, calm down." A hand accompanied the voice, falling on her shoulder. It was Missy, one of her best friends, who had been silent through the entire thing. "Pain knocks everyone out eventually."

"I know," Aggie grumbled. She gave the limp man another slap before she turned away from him. He gave a moan, but otherwise didn't move.

"Besides, you've been at him for an hour," Missy added. "Maybe we should all go celebrate."

Aggie glanced at the Doctor, burned and broken and helpless, then back at Missy. She gave her a smile. "Yeah. He'll still be here after."

 

"Wakey, wakey!"

The Doctor's head jerked up and he coughed at the strong scent that burned in his nose, eyes frantically blinking open. Though it had started healing, his body hurt to the other side of the universe and back, and he winced as sensation began to return to him. It had been nice being unconscious, left to his dreams that had nothing to do with any of this, but now he was back. That realization made him want to cry, but he kept his emotions in check, eyes flitting to the person standing in front of him, holding a tube in front of his nose. It was a middle aged man with dark hair that was starting to go gray at the temples, with lines around his mouth that were probably caused from frowning. He had the same fiery eyes as Aggie.

"Might I ask who you are?" the Doctor asked, adjusting his position in the chair. His voice scratched against his throat, and he couldn't help wincing at the stiffness in his bones, broken and intact. His neck was sore from the metal clamp.

"I'm Aggie's father," he said, stepping back, eyes studying him. "Most call me Angie, but that's just short for my real name." There was a gleam to his eyes that made the Doctor's stomach churn. "Would you like to know what it is?"

The Doctor just glared at him, hoping that his gaze would leave an impression. The man just laughed.

"Defiant. I like that. I'm Anguish Will Make The Doctor Scream." He gave him a sickly grin. "And you've been doing quite a lot of that already. Would you like some water?"

"I'm not drinking anything you give me," the Doctor spat. Really, he was parched, but how could he possibly trust anything they gave him? He was rather hungry too, but making a statement about that wouldn't do anything.

"You sure?" A young boy, probably five or six, came rushing into the room with a wooden jug in his hands. He gave it to Angie, in turn taking the tube from him, his wide eyes falling on the Doctor.

He had no room left for sympathy or compassion. He bared his teeth at the boy and let a vicious snarl rip from his aching throat. The boy instantly hid behind Angie, clutching his trousers in a sign that showed that they were father and son.

"Now, now, Doctor, be nice. Your throat sounds awfully sore." Angie shook the jug, his other hand going down to curl his fingers through the boy's hair in a comforting gesture.

"I told you," he croaked out. "I don't want anything."

"Well, we wouldn't want you to lose your voice, now would we? We wouldn't have anymore of those precious screams." Angie released his son and came forward, grabbing the Doctor's prominent chin and tilting his head back.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped through gritted teeth, trying to move his head away. The jug was tipped towards his mouth. He spluttered and choked as it ran over his face and past his lips, trying to spit it back in Angie's face, but once it hit his throat, there was no stopping him. He didn't care what was in this liquid; it felt so good! He began to gulp it down in earnest, Angie's thumb stroking over his chin almost encouragingly.

"There you go. Drink up. Feels good, right? It'll give you your voice back."

The Doctor felt disappointed when the jug was empty, though he found himself breathing a contented sigh.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"What?" He was astonished at how good his voice was sounding already, though it was ironic that these people only wanted it so he could scream. "Like thank you? Why should I?"

"Well, because for now, I'm releasing you." Angie came around to the back of the chair as the Doctor raised his eyebrows in question. A cry parted his lips as the man tugged whatever had been shocking him out of his back, and he felt blood begin to run over his cool skin. He was awfully surprised that he hadn't died from shock.

After that, the metal clamps were released, and the Doctor couldn't help sighing in relief, slumping in the chair. The movement caused the scabs on his chest, (all that was left of the burn from yesterday,) to break open and bleed.

"Why?" he finally asked after a pained grunt.

"I think I fancy taking you for a walk," Angie said, coming back around to the other side of the chair. He glanced at his son. "How does that sound to you, Torm?"

"Let me guess," the Doctor said, voice heavy with defeat. "Torment For The Doctor Forever."

The little boy looked frightened at his words, which was all the confirmation that he needed. Then, something clicked in his mind.

"What do you mean you're taking me for a walk? My toes are broken and I'm naked."

"You can certainly have your trousers back for now," Angie said, gesturing to where they lay, along with his shoes, on the other side of the room. "And besides, the public wants to see you after last night's exciting episode."

The Doctor's eyes went wide with horror. "You're turning my torture into a TV programme?"

Angie's insane smile turned into a glare. "You really can't fathom how much we hate you, can you?"

"No, I really can't."

"And that is why we're going for a walk. Come on." Angie began to hoist him up before he could react. "Up, up, up."

The Doctor screamed at the first impact his feet made and crumpled to the floor on his knees, tears stinging at his eyes. He felt angry at himself for showing weakness, especially the way he had shown it the day before. He shouldn't be so easily victimized.

"Come on, Doctor," Angie coaxed.

He just shook his head, refusing to look at him. This was horrible. How could he be turned into something so pathetic and helpless? How could there be no way out of this?

"Get up!" A kick landed in his side and he gave a cry, but didn't move. He could practically feel Angie's anger radiating towards him. "Stop whimpering like an abandoned puppy and stand!"

The Doctor's lip curled at this insult, and he somehow staggered to his feet without the use of his hands. They were terribly broken anyway. It made him feel sick to look at them.

And suddenly, his hands were grabbed by Angie. He gasped, but the man didn't make any move to hurt him.

"Might be useful to put these back in place." This was said mostly to himself, but the Doctor's stomach churned.

"And you know how to do that?" He gazed at his crooked hands nervously.

"We all got a lesson once or twice on what to do if we broke the Doctor's bones and wanted to put them back into place," Angie said, giving him a smirk that twisted his insides. This man was sick. This whole society was sick!

Everything was put back into place so quickly that it was hard for the Doctor to register anything but the pain. He found himself doubled over and gasping, a scream having just left his lips.

"There you go. Knowing you, they should heal up in a few hours. Come on. Let's get you dressed." Angie helped him straighten, then went and grabbed his trousers. They were a bit torn, but they would have to do.

"Okay, lean on me," Angie began instructing. The Doctor had no choice but to do as he said. He wanted to be partially clothed again anyway. "That's it. Right foot first."

The Doctor hissed in pain as his toes came in contact with the fabric of his trousers, staggering as he leaned on Angie. Finally, that was done and he was left with the other leg. He brought his hands down to take care of the zipper and button, but found that he couldn't do it, his fingers swollen and throbbing.

"I'll get that." The other man's fingers were suddenly doing this job for him, and the Doctor didn't know how to react. This whole situation so far had been intimate in the strangest of ways, made even more so by this.

"Something bothering you?" Angie asked, straightening.

"Yeah. Stop touching me."

The other man just laughed, then took his arm and pulled him forward. His son, who had been previously forgotten, fell into step on the other side. The Doctor was trying very hard not to use his toes. The slightest bit of pressure on them caused him to gasp, and his steps were slow.

"There you go," Angie coaxed. His voice was really starting to annoy him. He was talking to him like he was some kind of pet. "Good boy. Let's go get you your pretty collar to show you around with."

The Doctor froze, bristling with anger. That was one insult too many.

"My what?"

"Every pet needs a collar, right?"

"I'm not your pet."

Angie suddenly turned towards him, hand whipping up to grab his face. The Doctor struggled in vain, too hurt to fight against this contact.

"You are whatever we say you are, and for now, I say you're a pet. Understood?"

"Y-Yes," the Doctor responded as best as he could with his face being squished.

"Good. Now, come on." Angie grabbed his arm again and they continued the slow walk forward. Once through the doorway, they were met with a group of guards, none of which the Doctor recognized from yesterday. One held a wide metal band attached to a chain that looked like it had been made especially for his neck. Seeing as everything else except for the things that pertained to him was wood, this must have also come from the remains of the ship. He was surprised that they weren't all rusted over by now.

The guard handed the collar to Angie, who then turned to the Doctor. He took a step back, but was shoved forward again by another guard. They had fallen into a loose circle around them.

The Doctor snapped his teeth at the other man's hands as they came close to his neck with the collar. The man took a step back and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Someone hold his head back for me."

He flashed his teeth threateningly at anyone that came near him, but soon, his head was jerked up, mouth away from anyone's hands, and as a precaution, his arms were held at his sides, even though he couldn't use his hands. They were well aware that he could still use his elbows.

The clank as the metal came together around his neck sounded deafening to the Doctor's ears. He wanted to cry in defeat. How had he sunk this low in only 24 hours? The band was heavy and oppressive, only shedding a more hopeless light on his situation.

'How am I going to get out of this?'

"Come on." The chain rattled in Angie's hand as he gave it a tug. The Doctor shook his head and refused to move, horrified tears welling in his eyes. He couldn't let these people control him.

"Don't you want to attend the party? It's for you, you know." The chain was pulled again, but the Doctor didn't budge. The people around him began to laugh as the tears came down his cheeks, and he turned angry glares on all of them, snarling like a wild animal. This just made them laugh even harder, and he was prodded uncomfortably with spears.

"Move it, Doctor!" Angie snapped, tugging the chain so hard that he staggered a step forward. He gave a pained cry as his foot hit the ground.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he seethed through gritted teeth, eyes falling on Angie. The man glared right back.

"You don't have a choice. Come on."

With a wordless shout of fury, the Doctor clumsily propelled himself at Angie with the balls of his feet, bringing up his right elbow to ram him in the face as he staggered into him. The man gave a curse at the sudden attack and dodged, his free hand clubbing the Doctor in the side of the head. He fell in a heap at his feet, body screaming with the pain that that one action had caused. A booted foot came in contact with his face and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to roll away from it. A kick landed in the back of his head and then his shoulder. He groaned and found himself curled into a fetal position, trying vainly to protect himself from the blows, but they had stopped. There was silence, and then a yank of his collar.

"Up."

The Doctor tried desperately to follow this simple command, but his broken bones wouldn't allow him to. His attempts only left him scrabbling in the dirt, humiliated tears dripping down his face.

"Come on. Up. You can do it." The tugging on his collar became more insistent.

With a loud, agonized moan, the Doctor once again found himself on his feet, swollen and bruised as they were. The spectators just laughed at him some more.

"Oh, don't listen to them, Doctor," Angie said, coming forward, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. "I'm the only one that matters, right?" He began to dab at the blood and dirt on his face, and the Doctor didn't even flinch or try to move away. This man's attitude towards him was strange; maybe he could figure out what he was thinking by allowing him to do all this.

Angie continued cleaning his face, but gave a tug on the chain.

"I asked you a question. When I ask a question, I expect you to answer."

The Doctor remained silent, once again feeling defiant. He knew he would eventually break - he could feel himself starting to - but he was going to make these people fight to do it.

Angie's gentle ministrations suddenly turned into a smack in the face, the blow knocking the Doctor's head to the side, but he kept his feet steady.

"Not very talkative, are we? Throat still hurting?" Angie locked eyes with him, as if the sheer power in his gaze would warrant a response. The Doctor actually felt himself giving in. He nodded.

Angie gestured to someone who came forward and took the chain from him, and another person handed him another wooden jug. He took it, one hand curling in the Doctor's hair and gently tilting his head back.

"I can do it myself," he muttered.

"No, your hands are broken." He brought the jug to his lips. "Drink."

The Doctor allowed himself to, not realizing that his thirst had not been quenched earlier. This time, he allowed himself to taste the liquid. It was sweet: lemon and honey and something else he couldn't identify. The way it touched his tongue and throat was soft, cooling, and he took eager gulps.

"Ah, ah, slow," Angie chastised. "Don't want to choke, do you?"

It was a struggle, but he forced himself to slow down. Drinking so fast would either choke him or make him sick.

"There you go. Good boy."

Angie's fingers ran through his hair almost soothingly, but he ignored it, focusing on this drink he was being given. It was the most hospitality he had been shown since his arrival.

The words fell on uncaring ears, and he realized that the fingers running through his hair felt good. Soft touch had so quickly become foreign to him, and he was reveling in the feeling of something that didn't hurt.

The Doctor licked his lips once the empty jug was moved away, breathing a contented sigh. He actually felt disappointed when Angie was no longer touching him, his hands going back to the chain of his collar.

"What do you say?" he urged him.

"Thank you." The Doctor found the words genuinely passing his lips. This man was treating him so strangely, but it was almost a welcome change after the agony he had endured. His hearts beat wildly when he thought of what more there was to come.

"Let's go then." Angie gave the chain a gentle, almost persuasive tug. "Come on."

The Doctor found himself falling into slow, pained steps behind him, eyes on the chain that connected to his color. He felt something that seemed like awe coming off the guards around him, certainly not awe at him, but maybe at Angie.

'What? Is he supposed to tame me or something?'

The Doctor's lip curled in a sneer at the thought, but he remained silent. Talking wouldn't do him any good.

The walk through the passageways of the Heligan Tree was absolute torture. His feet were begging for him to stop while Angie gave him light tugs on the chain, urging him to go a bit faster. People in clothing of brown and green stopped to watch as he passed by, and shouts flickered through the crowds when they saw him. He was struck with rocks and he tried shying away from them, but they always hit him anyway, and they were thrown by people of all ages: children, teens, adults, elders. Even a baby, held aloft by its mother, tossed a small pebble at him. He stopped, staring in shock at the infant, jaw going slack. The mother noticed his gaze and instantly held the baby close to her, giving him a glare that he returned in earnest.

The moment was interrupted by a sharp tug on his collar.

"Come on, Doctor!" Angie called.

"Even your babies know to hate me," he said, voice drowned out by the others all around him. The crowd began to quiet though, when they realized that he had spoken.

"What is it?" Angie's tone was annoyed, and he pulled on the chain, nearly throwing him off balance.

The Doctor just surveyed the crowd, now gone silent, hateful and curious gazes all on him, burning into his skin.

"How can you all hate me so much?"

The question was met with silence, which he didn't mind. It had been rhetorical, met only for himself.

He took a step towards a woman with children on either side of her, a boy and a girl. "You," he growled, the collar tight against his throat. "Did you let your children watch what happened to me last night?"

"O-Of course I did." She looked flustered and terrified that he was addressing her, and the children looked up at him with their mouths gaping open. "Everyone watched it."

"And what's the estimated count of the population?" His words were nearly choked out of him by the collar.

"T-Two hundred thousand."

"And not one of you wanted to do something else while that was being broadcasted?" He spun around slowly to face the rest of the crowd, fear and absolute horror driving his words. "Every single one of you wanted to watch? What? Did your children throw little sleepover parties over it, and you adults all got together and watched it in a bar while having a good drink? You all had the urge to watch something so graphic, so violent, so painful?" The Doctor realized that there were tears in his eyes. "Not one of you feels empathy or thinks that I don't deserve this?" He suddenly spit on the ground. "Curse you! Curse all of you and this stupid tree! Curse the very breath in your lungs and blood in your veins!" He spit again, fury building, and his words suddenly changed from their language to his own, Gallifreyan, something that hadn't been heard in centuries. It almost sounded like singing, and he smirked knowing that any who attempted this language would be left with their vocal chords in a tangled mess. He was throwing out insults and curses that only he could understand, and that made him feel superior, made him feel powerful again.

His voice choked off as a large rock suddenly hit him in the side of the head. He crashed to the ground, words turning into a cry. His vision swelled and heaved as pain throbbed through him. He managed to let out a defeated sob before he lost consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie decides that the Doctor is his pet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I apologize for how sick this story is? I'm not quite sure, though I have to admit that I'm having quite a lot of fun. By the way, I can't take any credit for the society or the way these people are named. That's all due to wonderful author, Philip Reeves, who wrote the book for Doctor Who that this idea is based off of. And if you're just as sick and twisted as I am, enjoy this next chapter.

The Doctor sat rather uncomfortably on the dirt floor, legs sprawled out in front of him, hands hanging uselessly in his lap. He could feel them healing, but it would be a few more hours until that finished up. His feet were better, but there was no point standing. His chain had been secured to a branch and a gag fastened over his mouth, leaving him helpless in a corner to witness the ongoing celebration of his capture. These people were nuts, absolute, raving lunatics. They drank and ate, talked and laughed, danced to exotic music that was being played through even stranger instruments. And every once in a while a group of people would wander over to gape at him or taunt him. The gag had been put in place after too many attempts of trying to bite off fingers that came near him. With his hands broken, it was basically his only means of defense, and now that was gone too.

His hearts pumped against his ribcage as another group came over, the sixth one so far. He could feel that an hour and a half had passed since he'd been left chained up, and he had nothing to do but count how many times he had been approached. At first, he had tried considering escape, even attempting to undo the chain, but his hands hurt too much for such strenuous movement to be accomplished. So instead he sat and glared at the people around him, fear curling in his stomach as it had been since his arrival to the Heligan Tree. It still wasn't something that one could become used to.

The group stopped in front him, three teenage boys. There was a small crowd behind them, made up of mostly girls. They were probably trying to prove their 'bravery' by attacking a helpless victim. The Doctor could only glare at them, wishing he could at least spit curses.

"Hey, Doctor?" one of them called. "Who's powerful now, huh?" His foot connected with his face and he grunted, the blow pushing him on his back into the dirt. He gritted his teeth through the gag, knowing that more pain was coming. And it did. The group of boys surrounded him, landing kicks and punches all over his vulnerable body, laughing all the while. He twisted and turned, wishing he could escape the blows, cries muffled through the gag. As soon as it started however, it had stopped. It took him a moment to realize that they had been shoved out of the way and that Angie was now kneeling beside him, a hand to his face.

"Leave him alone." Angie's voice was quiet, yet commanding. "He's mine right now, you understand?" He looked to each of the boys in turn, and they finally all nodded, then left, friends trailing behind them, looking ashamed and amused all at the same time.

Angie helped the Doctor into a sitting position with a hand on his back, the other going to his gag.

"Not going to try and bite me, are you?"

The Doctor gave a vague shake of his head. It would be best to cooperate. He breathed deeply once the gag was ripped off his face, and Angie patted him on the cheek.

"There you go. Now, I brought you some food. Wouldn't do good for you to go hungry." One hand slid a plate into view, a plate full of unknown things that smelled delicious and made his mouth water. It took a large amount of restraint to keep himself from lunging at it.

"Why are you doing this for me?" The Doctor's eyes went to Angie's, but then flitted away. It was hard to meet his gaze.

"I'm the one who gets to ask questions," Angie said. He picked up a piece of food. "Open your mouth."

The Doctor just shook his head. He had shown enough weakness already. He was not about to let himself get fed by somebody.

"I said open. I know you're hungry."

He shook his head again. Why should he eat anyway? Regaining his strength was absolutely pointless. He was going to die, and he would rather have it be sooner than later.

Angie rolled his eyes and gave a huff of annoyance, and his other hand came up to grip his face and force his mouth open. The Doctor tried to twist his head out of his grip, wishing he didn't have to eat anything this man gave him. It was all so pointless.

"Stop it!" The hand released him, but only to slap him, and then it was back, and he tried desperately to keep his mouth closed "Open." Once his jaws were spread apart, the food was stuffed into his mouth, and he found that he couldn't even register the taste. Something so trivial as taste didn't matter in his situation.

Angie forced his mouth closed. "Now, chew." The Doctor remained absolutely motionless, adamant in his defiance. Another slap landed on his face. "I said chew!" He found himself doing so, and he swallowed without any command. This made Angie smile.

"Good. Let's try this again." He picked up another piece of unknown food. "Open."

"I don't want to eat."

"I don't care. You will eat." A hand gripped his face to hold him still. "Open."

The Doctor followed this order, and the food was put in his mouth.

"Good. Chew it."

He followed this order too, swallowed, and waited for more. There was no way he could win in this situation.

"See, it's not that hard," Angie told him. "Open."

And the Doctor's meal continued like this, though Angie did stop giving him orders, as he was doing it now almost eagerly. He was hungry, though he hated how he was letting such a basic need drive him.

Once the meal was finished, Angie stroked a finger under his chin, almost as if he was rewarding him. The touch was welcome after all the blows he had received, and the Doctor leaned towards it a little, not even registering what he was doing. His handler just smiled.

"Like that?" The hand came up, stroked his face, then ran through his hair, and he actually smiled at the caresses, eyes closed in bliss. A part of him was sickened by all this, wondering how he could possibly be allowing himself to enjoy this. Another part of him craved it; it was such a welcome feeling after all this pain, such a wonderful thing because he knew that there was more to come and that he should just enjoy it while it lasted.

"I bet you'd like a bath too, hm? Nice hot water, scented soap." Angie's hand had slipped down to caress his neck where the collar wasn't touching it. "You'll get one if your good."

The realization of what was happening seemed to hit the Doctor and he jerked his head back from his handler's touch, eyes snapping open to glare at him.

"I'm not your dog that you can just fondle when he does something good," he sneered.

"Oh, you really are," Angie said. "The Justiciar made me your handler until you die, and I plan on taking this job very seriously."

"Why? I thought I'm supposed to die in that chair."

"You will die in that chair, eventually." He lowered his hand and patted him on the knee. "Next episode's tomorrow." The smirk on his lips made a shiver pulse up the Doctor's spine.

"And who's in charge of it this time? Not your daughter, I hope. She seemed a bit too enthusiastic."

"We're all enthusiastic about this in our own ways," Angie said, fingers brushing his face again. The touch made the Doctor flinch. "I'm personally very enthusiastic to turn you into the perfect pet."

"It's not going to happen."

"You're so sure of that?" His fingers were drawing circles around his left cheek. "You lean into my touch like you want more of that."

"I'm not some dog succumbing to his master."

"You really are, Doctor." His hand froze on his face. "You really are."

 

"Dad, why are you bringing him here?" Aggie asked, looking at the Doctor in disgust. Angie stopped to face his daughter, giving a slight tug on the chain to signal this to his pet.

"I'm his handler. Why wouldn't I bring him here?"

"Because he's a disgusting piece of shit." She spat at his feet, and the Doctor jumped out of the way, turning a glare on her.

"Hey, both of you, be nice." He pulled the Doctor close to him and placed a hand on his back, a sign to his daughter not to touch him. "I'm taking care of him. The Justiciar made me his handler." The other man only frowned at this, but didn't say anything.

"And he's staying here? He should be back in the chair." Aggie was looking him up and down. "You heal fast." The way she said this was very distastefully.

"Shut up."

Angie smacked him in the back of the head. "Nice, got it?" The Doctor just looked down at his feet.

"Why don't you tell your bitch of a daughter that?" he muttered.

Anger made a quick flare through Angie's veins and he smacked him again, harder, causing him to cry out and stumble, nearly fall. Then he straightened, and glared at him for probably the millionth time that day. Angie didn't find the look in his eyes threatening in the least. This man was helpless and under his control, and his hateful gaze couldn't do anything to him.

"Do you want a bath or not?" Angie asked, voice stern.

"I don't care," he muttered.

"Yeah, dad, why does it matter? Bathing him isn't going to cleanse the real filth on him."

"Why don't you go study or something?" Angie suggested to his daughter, annoyed at her interference. "I thought you had a test tomorrow."

With a huff, Aggie spun and walked away.

"Come on." Angie continued walking through the house, the Doctor trailing along behind him. It was a large wooden building that stood on the outside edge of the Heligan Tree, the windows on one side giving a view out to darkness and stars. Peering out one of them, Angie realized how surreal this moment was. Hundreds of years ago, this man had cast his ancestors out into this emptiness, this man that he had following him on a chain. He smiled and let his fingers curl tighter around it. He had always dreamed about the return of the Doctor, had always hoped that it would happen in his time, and here he was, the one who got to tame him and hold his leash.

The bathroom he took him to was on the first floor, a spacious room with a tub cut into the middle of it. It was already filled with water, steaming with heat. Apparently Torm had listened to him when he had told him in advance to get the bath ready.

Angie made a glance behind him when the chain suddenly pulled taut. The Doctor had stopped in the doorway, lips pressed together into a defiant line.

"Come on," Angie said, giving the chain a light tug to coax him forward. "It'll feel good. Besides, don't you want that blood and dirt washed off of you?"

"It won't matter," the Doctor responded. "I'm going to be tortured again tomorrow." His voice was weak when he said the words, and fear danced in his eyes. "If you want to help me, help me leave."

"No." He yanked hard on the chain, and the Doctor stumbled towards him. The two were mere inches apart. "I have been waiting for this my entire life and here you are, in my grasp." He yanked on the chain again just to emphasize that. "Everyone has been waiting, and now you're captured. Can't let our prize get away, now can we?"

The Doctor's only response was a frown. After a few moments, he began to undo his trousers, face contorting in pain as he worked his fingers. It looked like he was trying not to make a sound, but a small moan passed his lips. Angie let him do it himself though, and once he was finished, he led him over to the tub and wound the end of the chain tightly around the faucet. His hands were still in too poor of a condition for him to undo it.

"You know, I can wash myself," the Doctor said, voice rife with irritation, as he settled into the tub. His annoyed expression was instantly replaced with a look of content and he released a loud sigh. Angie noticed how he didn't let his left arm enter the water though. The skin of his forearm was in blackened bits that oozed yellow pus, the flesh around the wound red and angry. That would have to be taken care of.

"You won't even put your arm in the water," Angie told him, already grabbing a bar of soap, a sponge, and a bottle of shampoo. "And your hands are in no shape for you to be using them just yet."

"I'm perfectly fine. See?" He splashed his left arm into the water, giving a cry, then gritting his teeth and taking deep breaths through his nose.

"So rebellious when I'm treating you kindly." He squirted some shampoo into his hand and knelt by the side of the tub. "Soak your hair for me, will you?"

With a defeated sigh, the Doctor slipped his head back back into the water, and a smile actually lit on his face and he closed his eyes in contentment. Angie began scrubbing the shampoo into his hair, and he breathed another sigh.

'What a lovely pet you are,' he thought, hands massaging the Doctor's scalp. 'I wish I could keep you forever.' It almost made him sad that he was going to die. Wasn't it much better to have him tame on a leash rather than dead? He'd bring the subject up with the Justiciar. She was a lenient woman; maybe he would get to keep him.

He scrubbed the shampoo out of his hair, then lathered the sponge with soap. The Doctor flinched when he started cleaning his bruised and bloody face, then relaxed. Once that was finished, he sat up a little to give him better access to his chest, back, and shoulders. Angie was trying to be gentle with him, but he would wince in pain every once in a while. He didn't give any sort of fight though, just remained still in the water.

"You're such a good boy," Angie said, running a hand through the Doctor's wet hair. His comment made him tense and he started to rise out of the tub, but he pushed him back down. "Relax. Everything's okay." He gently ran his fingers over his face in an attempt to soothe him, but his touch made him tremble. He realized that there were tears in his eyes. He made his voice softer. "Everything's okay."

The Doctor just shook his head, the chain rattling.

"Stop hurting me."

"But I'm not hurting you." He ran his fingers under his chin.

The Doctor turned to look at him, tears in his eyes. "You don't think that the mind can feel pain?"

"And I'm causing that?" He tickled his cheek, and the Doctor suddenly grabbed his wrist. Though his hand was still broken, his grip was tight.

"Yes, you are."

Angie used his other hand to tap the Doctor's tense fingers. "Isn't that hurting?"

"Everything's hurting: the way you talk to me, the way you touch me. I want you to stop."

Angie pried the Doctor's hand loose and uncurled his fingers, then stroked his palm with his thumb. He had to try to soothe him.

"But doesn't this feel good, especially after all the pain you went through yesterday?" His thumb ran over his swollen fingers.

The Doctor didn't respond for a while, but then he nodded. "But I don't like it."

Angie just raised his eyebrows and picked up the sponge again. "Are you going to be good and let me finish?"

"I'll try."

"Ah, good boy. Lift your right leg for me."

The Doctor gasped in obvious pain as he followed his order, resting his foot on the side of the tub, and Angie started gently cleaning his thigh. There was a wound there that looked like it had been caused by a spear.

"I know it hurts, I know," he said, voice sympathetic.

As Angie washed him, he couldn't help thinking that he was handsome, but not in a way that made him feel affectionate or attracted to him, more in a way that one would call their cat handsome.

The rest of the bath was alright until he got to his left forearm. The Doctor cradled his arm to his chest and scooted away from him, his chain rattling, green-brown eyes lit with anger and fear.

"I have to take care of that," he said, nodding at his arm.

The Doctor shook his head. "I-It's fine. Really."

"No it's not." He came close and the Doctor pressed himself against the edge of the tub, hugging his arm tighter. Angie held out his hand, an obvious sign for him to give him his arm. He didn't move. He'd need a bit more coaxing.

"If you're good about this, I'll give you a bar of chocolate."

His eyes lit up for a second, but then went dark again, and he continued to shake his head.

"Alright then. I guess you'd rather be treated roughly." Angie lunged forward, grabbed his arm, and took the sponge to it before the Doctor even had a chance to fight him. He gave a scream and tried to pull his arm back, feet scrabbling against the bottom of the tub. His movements caused water to slosh all over the floor.

As the Doctor fought, Angie scrubbed away the blackened bits of dead skin. It took all his strength to hold his arm in place, but the man finally started to calm down. His body was still tense from the pain, but he wasn't fighting anymore.

"Do I still get that chocolate?" he asked, hanging his head back against the edge of the tub.

"I said you would get it if you were good, and you weren't good."

"Fine," the Doctor grumbled. He gave a cry and gritted his teeth. "You almost done with that?"

"Just about." Angie scrubbed a little more, trying to wash away some of the infection, then dunked his arm in the water. The Doctor tried to pull his arm back and twist away from him, giving a cry, but he held him firm. "Now we're done. Come on, get out. Have to get you dried and dressed."

The Doctor eyed his ripped, dirty trousers as he stood. "I hope you don't mean in that."

"No, of course not. I've got something else for you to wear. You'll look positively lovely in it."

"What? Are we playing dress up now?"

Angie chuckled a little at this and went over to a wooden counter to receive a towel. "No, but I think my pet should look nice."

"Tomorrow," the Doctor began, his voice choked. "Are you bringing me?"

Angie nodded, coming back over with the towel. He went behind him and started drying his hair. "And then you'll see me after."

"And how long will it be?" He took notice of how his body trembled.

"Until you pass out, I suppose," Angie told him. "I might actually stay and watch, get a bit of entertainment."

A growl rose in the Doctor's throat at this. "You're a sick man, Angie."

He chuckled again. "Well, I just want to see my name put into action."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evil Episode 2

The Doctor's sleeping arrangements consisted of the rug in the parlour, his chain firmly attached to one leg of the sofa. He wanted to sleep, but he wasn't alone in the room. The whole family had decided to watch TV.

Angie's wife Tea, (Tears of the Doctor,) was positively horrified with him. Her beautiful face had held a grimace of disgust when she looked at him, and the meeting was accentuated by a slap in the face. Now, she sat on the end of the sofa farthest away from him, eyes glued to the TV so firmly that he knew she was trying to not look at him. Their two children, Torm and Aggie, sat between their parents, Angie on the side of the sofa closest to him.

Which the Doctor hated. Why did this man feel like he could do this to him? Treat him like some prize? He would rather be left in that terrible chair than be submitted to this mental and emotional torture. That was probably the point of it, to make him hurt more. And so, he positioned himself as far away as the chain would allow him, curled up with his back to the sofa. He really wanted to sleep - he was tired right down to his bones - but the noise and the constant glances were keeping him awake.

When a commercial came on, Tea spoke.

"Darling, why does he have to be in our house?"

"I've been appointed as his handler."

"But can't you just leave him outside?"

"And let him make a run for it or risk someone killing him in the middle of the night? Not a chance."

"But how can you even stand having him near you? How can you stand touching him?"

"He's a wonderful little pet." Angie tapped his hand on the side of the sofa. "See? Come here, boy."

The Doctor just smirked.

'Yeah right. I'll show you what a good pet I am.'

Tea just snorted. "Yeah, he really is." 

The Doctor could practically see Angie rolling his eyes. "I'm working on it." He tapped his hand on the sofa again. "Come here."

"No." His voice was bitter.

"If you do, I might remove your collar for a little bit and give you a neck rub."

Why would I take that bribe, you idiot?

Despite his thoughts, the Doctor found himself scooting over, sitting up and looking at him expectantly. The commercials had ended, but everyone's attention was on him now. Maybe if he really did take the collar off, he could make a run for it.

'But that's stupid. I'll never get back to my TARDIS. I'll never get out of here.'

His surge of hope was lost even as Angie reached a hand down and unclasped the collar from around his neck. He didn't even know where the clasp was. He had done a thorough examination of it with his hands, and all he had been met with was smooth metal. No wonder they trusted him not to take it off.

The Doctor actually felt strange without the heavy metal collar, realizing that he had been getting used to it. This made him resent himself, and hate these people even more. How could he get used to such a thing?

Angie's fingers were soft and gentle on his neck, and he actually found himself tilting his head back to give him better access. It was such a good sensation compared to the clamp on the chair and his collar.

"Dad, how are you doing that?" Aggie's voice was astonished. "All he did yesterday was fight."

"Oh, he fought today, didn't you boy?" He gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before continuing to caress his throat. "But he's been very good too."

"C-Can I try?" She seemed nervous to ask. The Doctor raised his eyebrows at her, but didn't move away from Angie.

"Maybe later, sweetie." He replaced the collar on his neck, gave him a pat on the head, and turned his attention back to the TV.

'Like I'll let you touch me,' the Doctor thought, laying down again. Though he felt vulnerable, he laid on his back. He had to show these people that he wasn't afraid, and this was a subtle way of doing it.

'But I am afraid. I've never been so frightened before in my life. Why is this happening to me?'

The Doctor soon drifted off despite the noise of the TV and the glances his way. The rug was soft, and so was the green robe that Angie had dressed him in, and he was just so tired. He was woken a little while later, however, by a now-familiar hand parting his robe a bit and trailing his hand over his chest.

"Hey, Doctor, you going to let Torm and Aggie pet you?" Angie's voice was soft.

"No, only Aggie," Tea quickly said, shooting a glare at him. She grabbed her son's hand and held him a little closer to her.

Angie just nodded his head. "Alright. Only Aggie." He gestured to his daughter. "Come here."

The Doctor didn't move until Aggie was crouched over him with a hand close to his face. He leaped up and snapped at her fingers, and she gave a startled and pained shriek as his teeth came in contact with her hand, quickly pulling back. She retaliated with a punch that had him back on the floor, and while he was vulnerable, she kicked him hard in the groin.

He gasped at the sudden pain that was shooting through his member and up into his stomach, curling into a ball in a weak attempt to protect himself. He was glad that no more blows came.

"Doctor!" Angie snapped. "That was very bad! What do you say to Aggie?"

Tears in his eyes, the Doctor looked at her, grimaced and said, "Go die in a hole." This was rewarded with an angry shriek and a kick in the head. He moaned and held his hands to his head, still in ball, nearly immobilized from the blow to his groin.

"It seems as if he only let's me touch him," Angie noticed, reaching down to run a hand through his hair. He looked to his daughter, who was still giving the Doctor a death stare. "How's your hand?"

"I'll go take care of it." She stepped on him as she made her exit.

"See why we shouldn't have him in here?" Tea asked. "What happened to Aggie just proved it." She looked to Torm. "Promise me you won't go near him."

"But what if I want to?"

"You can't. Promise me you won't."

The little boy lowered his head with a bit of a pout. "I promise I won't."

"Good."

The Doctor pretended to sleep until the family turned off the TV and left the room, leaving him on his own in the darkness. He didn't move for nearly an hour after that, waiting and hoping that they would all be asleep. Then, he tried finding the clasp to his collar. He sat up and ran his fingers over the metal. It came together somewhere in the back - he was sure of that - but he couldn't seem to locate it. He tried to pull it apart, but it wouldn't budge. Apparently it could only be removed by the undetectable clasp.

Seeing as this failed, he heaved a sigh and leaned down, looking intently at the way the chain was fastened to the leg of the sofa. The chain had a big loop at the end, and it looked like the sofa had been lifted up and the leg placed through it. Maybe he could slide it out from underneath. He pulled and tugged, but his tired, battered body was hardly doing anything. Next he tried to lift the sofa, but he only succeeded in sliding it across the floor. He fell across the armrest, panting and aching from his efforts. That's when he heard footsteps down the hallway.

The Doctor quickly tried to make it look like he was sleeping, but the rattling of his chain as he moved back into his earlier position gave him away.

"I know you're trying to get out," Aggie's voice came. Sighing, he sat up and looked at her. She wore a robe similar to his that looked a little rumpled from sleeping, but she also held her spear tightly in her right hand. "I can hear you."

"And what are you going to do about it?" he asked, voice showing his defiance.

"Sleep on the sofa," she said, coming over. She waved the spear threateningly at him. "If you move, I'll know it." She plopped herself down, her eyes still on him. He evenly met her gaze.

"Go to sleep!" she hissed at him.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, laying down and turning his back to her. "I was about to anyway. Found out I can't escape, so…" Giving a shrug, he closed his eyes.

He tried to sleep, but it wasn't easy now that Aggie's gaze was on him. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, and it made his skin prickle.

"Aren't you going to get tired of looking at me?" he finally asked in a cold tone, realizing that her gaze hadn't moved from him in the past few minutes. "You said yourself that you don't find me attractive."

"Maybe a little, but how can one find a monster attractive?"

"I'm not a monster," the Doctor murmured. Her words had struck deep and it made his hearts ache. He often thought of himself as a monster, as a being that didn't deserve love or companionship or kindness, but he hadn't been called one by anybody other than himself in a very long time.

"You are, yet my dad's treating you like a pretty little toy." Her tone was disapproving. "You should still be in that chair, yet he has the idea to show you kindness."

"It's not kindness." The Doctor actually found himself rolling around to face her, eyes locating her in the dark. "The way he treats me hurts worse than that chair."

"Why?" Her voice was incredulous.

The Doctor didn't answer, only asked: "Why are you even talking to me? It's obvious how much you hate me."

Aggie's silhouette shrugged. "Why are you talking to me?"

He didn't have an answer, so he rolled back over, and closed his eyes. It was an awfully long time before sleep came to him.

 

"Come on, Doctor!" Angie's voice was irritated, and the tugging on the chain was starting to hurt, but the Doctor refused to move. He was not going back to that chair.

He had woken to sunlight spilling in through the windows and a sense of dread that twisted his stomach and made him feel sick. Aggie's spot on the couch had been empty.

Angie pulled so hard on the chain that the Doctor lost his balance and stumbled to the floor with a grunt.

"Let's go!"

"No! I'm not going!" The Doctor didn't bother standing, just crawled over to the sofa and hugged it. It would be something to keep him in place when Angie pulled on the chain again.

"Aggie!" he called down the hallway. "I need help!"

'Oh great. I'm in such a mess right now.'

The Doctor clutched the sofa harder when Aggie entered the room, dressed for the day, spear in hand and a bag over her shoulder.

"Dad, I have to go to school. I have that test, remember?" She didn't sound too happy about it.

"You can't get in trouble for helping me with him." Angie gestured at the Doctor, then gave his chain another tug. "Let's go!"

He quickly shook his head, not budging from his spot even when Aggie came over. She grabbed the base of the chain right near the collar, prodded her spear at his side, and began attempting to pry him loose.

"No! No, no! Please, no!" He lost his grip on the sofa and was on the floor again, but not for long, as Aggie was yanking him to his feet, spearpoint too close for comfort.

The two struggled to pull him out of the house. He kept trying to yank the chain out of Angie's hand while Angie kept trying to yank him forward, and Aggie's spear was a constant point in his back.

"You know what?!" Angie's voice was strained with exertion as the Doctor fought against him. "Maybe today I'll just leave you there to die!"

"Good!" the Doctor spat back. "Do it!"

"That is it!" Aggie cried. The Doctor felt something crack over his head and then the world went dark.

 

He woke while he was being fastened to the chair, and he struggled against the hands that were holding him down. It was no use. There were too many people for him to win this battle, so he fell still and let them finish. He didn't recognize any of them from his previous session in the chair, and he felt humiliation all over again. His robe had been pulled off; he could see it on the ground a few feet away.

And he didn't recognize the man who held the remote. He seemed to be in his middle years, with dark hair and light skin and a cruel smile on his lips. He didn't speak. He just went right down to business.

The Doctor actually fainted almost as soon as it started. Two hammers had come down and simultaneously smashed his kneecaps to broken bits. He managed a scream, and then he lost consciousness, but it wasn't for long. He came to with a knife stabbed through his right hand. He couldn't scream, and his breath was struggling in his throat, agony pulsing hot through his nerves. However, he did manage to release his voice when the same thing happened to his other hand. He strained against the metal clamps, tortured voice rushing out of his mouth, wishing it would stop, wishing he could get out of this.

He easily decided that this torture session was worse than the first one. After the knives were ripped out of his hands, he was slashed across the face by another one, splitting his cheek open from his left eye to the middle of his chin, a cut that splattered the rest of his face with blood. Blood. There was so much more of it, and it was only the beginning.

The Doctor tossed his head back, screams pouring from his gaping mouth, as a blade came down and sliced him open from his collarbone to his lower abdomen. Blood splashed everywhere and he still screamed even when the blade was gone. The man with the remote just smiled.

Thin cords wrapped around his thighs and began to tighten, and soon, they slipped through his flesh and made their way through muscle and tissue and sinew. His head rolled to the side and he was gasping, uncertain for the moment of how to use his voice. It felt like it was stuck, like the pain was strangling him.

He could feel his life bleeding out of him in hot, precious trickles, and he actually felt joyous.

"Yes! Kill me! Yes!"

But the bleeding was stopped by fire that made him writhe against his restraints, and he was left begging.

"Oh, please." Tears gushed freely down his face, stinging in the wound across his cheek. "Please just kill me. Please just let me die."

And it went on… and on… and on… The Doctor didn't have his voice anymore; he had screamed and begged and sobbed his throat raw, yet his mouth opened anyway in silent attempts when the agony continued. He didn't have any tears left either. They were soaked across his face with the blood.

And then he became too tired to react to the pain, on the edge of consciousness. All he could do was mouth his pleas and hope that somewhere, somehow, someone would hear him, would listen to him, would come to his aid.

"Stop. Please. You have to. It hurts."

"Kill me. Please just kill me."

"Oh, please it hurts so bad."

"Somebody help me. Somebody kill me."

"Please, please stop."

"Please, please, please."

"Please…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor dreams of River Song and makes promises that he might not be able to keep.

The Doctor woke to cold liquid - probably water - being splashed over his face. He tried to moan as feeling came back to him, but nothing came out. His throat felt like he had swallowed hot sand, and he found himself licking the droplets off of his face, eyes still closed.

“Don’t worry,” Angie’s voice came. “You’ll get a nice drink when we get back to my house.”

He opened his eyes, breathing ragged, when Angie began undoing the clamps. He forced himself to look at his body. It was hard to differentiate between wounded and unwounded flesh, his entire body coated in dried blood. His knees were two or three times their usual size, blackened with bruises. He put his head back against the chair in defeat, wishing that he hadn’t been woken up, that he could have just been left to die. It would be so much better than this.

He attempted to say something, but all that came out was an airy rasp that hurt his throat.

“Don’t try to speak,” Angie instructed. “I know you have no voice.” He looked down at his knees, frowning. “And you can’t walk…”

Good. Leave me here. Let me die. You don’t have to take care of me. He wished he could voice this.

Angie gestured with his hand to two guards that the Doctor hadn’t noticed until they stepped forward. Their hands came under him and he fainted as he was hoisted up, the movement making agony completely wash through him.

 

He partially woke on the way there, enough to know that he was still in more pain than he could imagine, and that Angie was stroking his face. He brought up a blood-covered hand to grasp his tightly, as if he was seeking comfort from him, as if holding this man’s hand would make all the pain go away. He desperately wished that it would.

With a heavy sigh, he fell back into unconsciousness.

 

There was a hand on the Doctor’s back, lifting him up slightly, and something touching his lips. He parted his mouth to allow the liquid in, and he drank greedily, trying to quench his thirst and stop the aching in his throat.

He settled back down when he finished the drink, realizing that he was back in his robe, lying on the rug in the parlour. His collar, however, had not been replaced. He couldn’t go anywhere anyway.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” His answer was a hoarse croak, and the use of his voice made him cough.

“Alright.” There was a soft touch in his hair. “I’ll have some more water for you later. Just rest now.”

The Doctor gave a vague nod of his head, eyes still closed. It wasn’t hard to once again get lost in the darkness that had no feeling.

 

“I love you, sweetie.” River’s eyes sparkled as she said it, and one of her hands was playing with his hair.

“You do?”

“Yes, I really do.” She gave him a quick kiss that he tried to hold onto. “I mean, you really forced me into marrying you, but that’s what I wanted anyway.”

“How did you come to love me?”

River shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t laying on the blanket they had spread on the ground, her curls bouncing a little. “I was obsessed with you since I was young. How could I not be? I was trained to kill you, and then when I met you, that was all it took.”

The Doctor laughed a little. “That was quite a conflicting first date, wasn’t it? You actually did succeed in killing me!”

“Yes, well, then I saved you.” She moved a little closer to him, and he wrapped his arm tighter around her lower back, pulling her hips into him. “And I couldn’t help but notice that while I was doing that, you managed to open my jacket.”

“So?” he asked defensively, face going a little red a the memory.

“You’re a dirty old man,” she said softly, nuzzling her nose against his.

“Am I?” He smiled as she kissed his cheek.

“Yes, you are.”

“Is that one reason you love me?”

“Of course it is, sweetie.” The next kiss she gave him lasted longer than the previous one; it was soft, filled with passion. “But you’re a wonderful man too.”

 

The Doctor found tears on his face and he gave a quiet moan of despair. It had just been a dream.

“River,” he whispered. “Please, can you be here with me?”

There were more tears coming down his face, and he couldn’t help wondering how he had any left. If only she could be there to kiss them away like she had the many nights he would wake from a nightmare, sobbing and trembling about his horrible, terrible crimes. But there was no one here to comfort him now.

“Hey,” a soft voice came. Angie’s. There was a hand on his face. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” It hurt to talk.

“I’m here to help you. Do you think you can sit up?”

“M-Maybe.” The Doctor rolled onto his back and tried to sit, but the attempt made fresh pain course through his body. He gasped and flopped back down onto the rug. His body had started healing, but it wasn’t ready for that kind of movement yet. It felt like his knees had been stuffed with acid-soaked cotton balls.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.” A hand slid under his back. “Here, let me help you drink some more water.” He was lifted up, and then there was liquid flowing past his lips. He had a quick thought of drowning himself with it, but then he was swallowing it and eagerly drinking more. His body was still being driven by the instinct to live.

Once he finished, the Doctor laid back down on the rug with a heavy sigh. He hadn’t opened his eyes since he had woken up, and he still didn’t now.

“Who’s River?” Angie asked. It sounded like he had sat on the floor next to him.

“My wife.” His words nearly choked up in his throat. “She’s dead.”

Angie didn’t say anything to this, and the Doctor started falling asleep again. His senses came back to him when a hand parted his robe and stroked his chest and stomach around the terrible wound there. He made a pleased sound and inched a little closer to it.

“Maybe you’ll get to see her soon.”

He sighed, back arching a little into the hand that was caressing him. “That would be nice. C-Could you kill me, Angie? Kill me right now? Break my neck, o-or stab me in the hearts? Please?”

“I can’t.” His hand came to rest over where his left heart was beating. “You have more than one heart?”

“See for yourself. The other’s on the right.”

His hand slid over to the right side of his chest.

“I don’t feel it.”

“A little lower.”

Angie followed the Doctor’s instructions, and soon his hand was resting over his right heart.

“I don’t really want you to die.”

“Why not?”

Angie didn’t respond, just began drawing imaginary circles around his right heart, then his left one. The gentle sensation felt so wonderful on his skin and he smiled, even as he said:

“I hate you.”

“Do you now?”

That hand was still petting him, and the Doctor arched into it with a little moan of pleasure. He couldn’t believe that something so simple could feel so good.

“Do you want me to touch you anywhere else?” His robe was completely pulled open and Angie was using both his hands to run his fingers gently over his legs, from his thighs to his ankles. He gasped every time they touched his knees and his other various wounds, but his touch still felt wonderful, heavenly.

'Oh, why am I giving in to this?'

There were more tears on his face and he sobbed: “I hate you! I hate you so much!”

“But you’re letting me touch you.”

The Doctor just shook his head. “I don’t care. I-I hate you.” The wound in his abdomen cracked open and started bleeding as his chest heaved.

“Hey, stop.” Angie placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re hurting yourself. Stop.”

He took a deep breath to calm himself, his body aching.

“There you go. Good boy.” Angie resumed petting him.

“Stop it.” The Doctor rolled away from him, gritting his teeth in and anger.

“Come on. You like it.” Angie’s hand had followed him and was now on his back. “I know you do.”

'No, I don’t like. I don’t!' He hated to admit it, but he really did. It was the only comfort he could get. Breathing a sigh that was a mix between contentment and defeat, he fell back to sleep, hoping and dreading that he would dream about River.

 

“Sweetie, why can’t you stay?” River’s fingers twined around the back of his neck. “I want you to stay.”

“I’m busy,” the Doctor told her. He didn’t know what he was busy with, but he knew that there was something that was occupying his time.

“With what?”

“Don’t know. Something. I’ll be back though.”

He started to rise off the bed, but River pulled him back down.

“Doctor, please stay a few more minutes.” She ran a hand through his hair, nails grazing his scalp. “Please?”

The Doctor’s hearts ached. He knew he had to go, but he wanted to stay here, with her.

“I have to…” He trailed off. Her eyes were sad and pleading. “Alright. I’ll stay a while.”

River rested her head against his chest, hands coming down to his shoulders. He stroked his hands over her back, feeling terrible that he would have to leave her.

“When will you be back?”

“Soon, I think. I’ll come back, and then I’ll stay forever.” A smile lit his face at the thought of staying with this woman whom he loved, his wife, forever. But was forever even real?

“Yes, it is,” River murmured, responding to his thoughts as if she had heard them. “I know, because that’s how long it’s been without you.” She looked up at him, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Forever isn’t a time, River,” he said gently.

“But it is. Doctor, it’s been so long without you. It hasn’t been the same with you?”

“It has, darling. It really has been a long time. I miss you so much. But… I have to go.”

River shook her head. “No, Doctor. Don’t go. Please.”

He leaned over, kissed her ear and whispered, “I have to.” He started to rise off the bed, but she wouldn’t release him.

“Don’t. Please."

“I have to. I’ll be back, and then I’ll stay.”

“You’re lying. Aren’t you?” River held on tighter at her words.

“No, I’m not. When I come back, I’ll stay with you forever, however long forever may be.”

“Forever is infinite, sweetie.” She started to loosen her grip on him. She then gave him a teasing smile. “Are you ready to make that kind of commitment?”

“Of course I am. Now, please, just let me go and do what I have to, and then I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” She released him, and the images around him went gray.

 

He woke in a panic, limbs thrashing, his movements sloshing water everywhere.

“Easy! Calm down!” Angie’s soapy hands came to rest on his shoulders, and the Doctor began to relax, realizing that he was in the tub. The water was a murky pink, and most of the blood was washed off his body.

“Sorry.”

The Doctor questioned why he was apologizing, though he still felt like it was the right thing to do. Why wouldn’t he apologize? This man was helping him, wasn’t he?

“It’s okay. You’re just disoriented.” He looked at the water with a frown. “I’ll have to give you another bath just because of how dirty this water is.”

The Doctor suddenly felt sick. He was sitting in a tub with his own blood in it, blood that he had lost, but shouldn’t have. Dizziness washed over him and he found himself swaying a little bit.

“Everything okay there, boy?” Angie sounded like he was concerned for his pet.

“Water.” His voice was hoarse. “I-I need water.”

“After we finish, alright?”

“O-Okay.” The Doctor closed his eyes and took deep breaths, trying to make the dizziness go away, trying to convince himself that he only sat in clear, innocent water. He decided to speak; maybe it would clear his head. “How long since…?” He didn’t finish. Angie would know what he was talking about.

“Three days. You’re doing a lot better.” He had started washing his back.

The Doctor didn’t bother saying that it didn’t matter. It would only start an argument that he wouldn’t be able to win.

“I’m going to be killed next time, aren’t I?”

The room fell into silence, and it didn’t seem like Angie was going to break it. He actually seemed rather uncomfortable with the topic.

“You don’t have to be bothered by that. I know you hate me.”

“I rather like you as a pet though.” A hand slid around to caress his throat while the other continued washing.

The Doctor leaned forward into his gentle, wonderful fingers, a small smile on his face. He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t exactly know what to say either.

“But, I suppose almost every pet must be put down.” His fingers were roving over his face now, being careful not to touch the scab of the slash that was made there.

Those words made the Doctor’s stomach churn. He wanted to die, but at the same time, he didn’t. And the way Angie was talking about it… He gave a little moan of despair, and at the sound, Angie’s arms wrapped around him and held him tightly to his chest and began rocking him back and forth.

“It’s okay, Doctor. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

He shook his head and bit his lip, throat aching with unshed tears.

And then he heard River’s voice, remembering the dream he had been woken from.

“Will you come back?”

“Of course I’ll come back,” he said aloud. “Of course I will.”

Angie stopped his movements, but still held onto him.

“What are you talking about?”

“My wife asked me if I would come back.”

“You told me your wife was dead.”

“Exactly. And I’m going to go see her, and I’m going to stay with her forever.” A smile lit his face. “I’ll be back, River Song. I promise. I’ll be back.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie is a bit sneaky.

The Doctor woke to cold metal being placed around his neck, and he jerked up with a scream, arms flailing about. He felt his right hand connect with something and there was a muffled curse and the rattle of a chain.

“Doctor!” Angie’s voice was sharp.

“No, no.” The Doctor tried to scuffle away from him - knees pounding with agony - realizing that the morning, the awful, dreadful new day, had come. Angie knelt in front of him on the rug, the collar in his hands. “You don’t have to put that back on. Please. I’ll be good!”

“Stay still, Doctor.” Angie attempted to come forwards again. The Doctor was too slow to move back, to weak to fight against the hand that reached for him and shoved him flat on his back. 

“No! Stop it! Please!” The Doctor shook his head this way and that, hoping that maybe it would at least deter him a little in the task of putting the collar back. 

“How does your defiance keep coming back?” Angie growled, landing a harsh slap on the Doctor’s face. He stilled his head, but wrestled against him with his hands, trying to push him away or pry the collar out of his grip.

“No, no! Please! You have to let go of me!” Though his shattered limbs hurt to the other side of the universe and back, the Doctor brought up his legs to kick Angie in the stomach. It brought sounds of pain from both of the men, and Angie fell away from him for a moment. The Doctor instantly scrambled up, giving cries at the pain, but he didn’t stop. It would be all over if that collar was put back on him. He couldn’t let it happen!

Before he was fully upright, Angie tackled him to the floor with an angry yell, the Doctor hitting his head on the floor, vision swirling in and out. He could feel the collar close to his neck.

Panicked, he fought weakly with his hands, trying to hit Angie, trying to do anything to keep that away from him. There was suddenly a painful grip in his hair. The stinging in his scalp increased as his head was wrenched backwards, exposing his neck. Tears glittered in his eyes.

“No, please, you can’t do this.” The Doctor curled his fingers in the fabric of Angie’s tunic, looking at him pleadingly. Fighting hadn’t worked. Maybe he could try to work with the little bit of sympathy he had seen in the man. “Please.”

“Doctor, if you move or say another word, I’ll rip out your hair,” Angie threatened. One look at his eyes and the Doctor knew that he wasn’t making empty threats.

The Doctor slowly lowered his hands as Angie placed the collar down on the floor beside him. He looked at it curiously, but his attention was interrupted as one of Angie’s fingers began to stroke up and down his throat. He drew in a gasp and met the other man’s eyes.

“Don’t touch me,” the Doctor spat out hoarsely. He gave a cry as his hair was yanked on, but that one finger continued to caress him. He was breathing hard, pulse racing erratically. Why did Angie do this to him? Why?

'I don’t want to be your pet.' The Doctor let the tears begin to run down his face. I don’t want to be your pet. Why are you doing this to me?!

Angie’s finger found his skipping pulse. It increased even more as his finger lingered there.

“Who knew a pulse like that could be possible? A frightened man with two hearts…” Angie seemed to be talking to himself. He was running his hand up and down his throat again. The Doctor felt too vulnerable like this. He could do whatever he wanted to him in this position. He was waiting for those fingers to tighten, but it never happened.

“Are you going to let me put the collar on now?”

“Go burn in hell,” the Doctor spat at him, trying to pull away from the hand that tugged on his hair. His voice shook, showed his true horror, but he felt like he needed to speak nonetheless. 

“After you.” Angie’s thumb was suddenly digging into the Doctor’s throat and he choked, grabbed at his hand to make him stop.

“You won’t… Kill me,” the Doctor gasped out. Angie released the pressure at that. He replaced the painful touch with more caresses.

“You’re right. I won’t. Now, collar?”

Finally giving in and ashamed of it, the Doctor gave a weak nod.

“Good boy.” Angie picked up the collar and went to place it around his neck.

The Doctor gasped as the freezing metal touched his skin. He hadn’t expected it to be that cold, or maybe he was feverish. He couldn’t restrain a sob as he heard it click together, breath heaving. Angie got off of him and straightened, chain in hand.

“Come on.” He clapped his hands expectantly. “Up, up.”

“Why?” the Doctor asked. He realized he was tired after the ordeal, body still not recovered. 

“Because it’s breakfast time.” Angie gave the chain a gentle tug. “Come on.”

The Doctor groaned as he began getting up. He couldn’t believe how much everything hurt. Injuries were so much worse the days after they were given. He remained sitting, trying to catch his breath. He tried his eyes on the large sleeve of his robe.

“You’re feeding me?”

“You haven’t eaten in four days. Of course I’m feeding you. Up.” Angie shook the chain.

“Be patient,” the Doctor mumbled, but he was listening to the man’s command, getting to his feet as quick as he could. The feat sparked agony throughout his body and he could only gasp. Once standing, he quickly lost his balance and stumbled forwards into Angie. He caught him easily and let him rest his head on his shoulder. The Doctor hated this man. He was hurting and helping all at the same time, but it felt good to just rest his head on his shoulder, to lean on him for support.

Angie rubbed his back in a consoling gesture. “You think you can walk?”

“I’ll manage.” Suddenly angry that he wasn’t being self-reliant, the Doctor pulled away from Angie, but the pain in his knees nearly had him falling backwards. He gave a pained cry and tried to adjust his momentum forward, which had him crumpling into Angie again. He just gave him a light pat on the back.

“I’ll get you there. I promise.”

“The dining room?” The Doctor’s tone was slightly incredulous. he was eating with the rest of the family? Was this a sign of respect, or just another way to show him off? Probably the latter.

“I don’t see why not.”

The family was staring as Angie helped the Doctor into the dining room. Both Tea and Aggie wore scowls, and Torm’s eyes were wide. The little boy still hadn’t gotten used to his presence. The others had, but they weren’t happy about it.

“You’re kidding, right?” Tea asked, her mouth turned down in distaste. She stirred her spoon noisily in her bowl. The Doctor was unsure of what she was eating. He turned his head away from the glares and accusing gazes, hands curled into weak fists at his sides.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said quietly.

“What?” That was Tea.

“I’m sorry that I appear to be ruining your relationship,” the Doctor clarified, still not looking at her. “You’re probably a nice couple.”

There was a clatter as Tea’s spoon slipped out of her hand and into the bowl. The room was silent.

“Come on,” Angie said. He pulled out a chair for the Doctor. “Sit.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yes you are. Sit.”

The Doctor did as he was told with a groan. His chain rattled as Angie took it and slipped the ring at the end through one leg of a chair next to him. 

'Really? That’s not going to keep me here.' He glanced at Angie, then looked down at his chain. Angie promptly sat down in the chair. He apparently trusted him not to yank on it and topple him over. The Doctor was considering it, but it would do him no good. He didn’t want to find out what Angie would do if he managed it.

He looked down at the table. There was a bowl of what looked to be cereal in front of him. He glanced at Angie, who had started eating his breakfast, a plate of food that was much more elaborate than the Doctor’s. Angie nodded his head towards the bowl and the Doctor looked back down. He wasn’t hungry! The pain had gotten rid of his appetite, even if he hadn’t eaten in a matter of days. 

The Doctor picked up his spoon and fiddled with it. Tea had picked up a conversation with the rest of the family, but the Doctor didn’t pay attention, still looking questioningly at his cereal.  
'Maybe I should eat. I need the strength.'

He was bringing a spoonful to his mouth, but then he abruptly put it back down.

'No, I shouldn’t. I can at least aid in my death by not eating.'

“Something wrong, Doctor?” Angie asked, wiping his face on a napkin. “You’re not eating.”

“Why would I eat if I want to die?” he asked, sitting back in his chair, voice glum. “Besides, I’m not even hungry.”

Angie rolled his eyes. “We’re really going to do this again?”

“You don’t have to feed me.” Tea and the children were continuing their conversation, obviously trying not to look at the Doctor.

“Just eat,” Angie said with a sigh, picking up his silverware. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“I doubt it,” the Doctor muttered, but he found himself picking up his spoon anyway. The cereal was made out of some type of grain and there was a sweet, powder coating over it. He was surprised at how sweet it tasted, but it was good. He found himself eating another spoonful. And another. Now he was realizing that he was hungry. Soon, the bowl was completely empty.

The Doctor gave a satisfied sigh and shoved the bowl away from him, then leaned back in his chair.

“So, what’s the torture plan for today, Angie?” the Doctor asked sarcastically. “You or the chair?”

Angie looked at him, the last bits of his meal on his plate. He swallowed and answered. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Angie nodded.

“Nothing?” The Doctor actually found himself horrified at this. Certainly they were going to be doing something to him. What if they weren’t because they were planning something big? What if they were trying to give him a false sense of security? It would hurt him worse if he believed it and then they took it away. The Doctor was beginning to feel more paranoid than usual. 

“No.” Angie put down his silverware, meal forgotten. The rest of the family had gone silent, all eyes on the Doctor. It made him uncomfortable. Why were they looking at him? “You look tired, Doctor.”

“I’m… I’m not tired!” The Doctor stammered, though he could feel fatigue gnawing at him. Had it been there when he had awoken?

“Wow, that’s working slow,” Angie commented. “Should have expected it to.” 

“Sorry?” What was Angie talking about? The Doctor’s stomach was twisting itself into knots. He took a deep breath in through his nose to resist yawning. He was tired.

“I put something in your cereal to knock you out,” Angie explained simply. “Thought you wouldn’t have had time to finish eating, actually.”

The Doctor would have reacted with anger, but he was feeling more tired by the second. His eyes were heavy and he swayed a little bit in his seat.

“Oh… Why?”

Angie just smiled at him and even through the drugs that were dampening his mind, he felt a spike of panic. The smile was hinting and secretive, dark. Angie’s kinder side was gone for the moment.

“I…” The Doctor wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say. His lips felt fuzzy. He found himself resting his head on the table, eyes sliding closed.

'Maybe I’ll just sleep for a little while.'

 

He woke slowly, eyes too heavy to even open, too tired to use his voice. He didn’t understand where he was, his mind working sluggishly. Then, it came to him that he was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure in what way. He felt pleasantly numb, and he managed a small smile. No more feeling, no more pain.

“Thanks, Angie,” the Doctor mumbled. He doubted his words were audible. It was more of an attempt to see if he was able to move his mouth than anything else.

“I’m here.” There was a small sensation on either side of his face. 

“Angie?” He was starting to understand that the sensations were Angie’s fingers, stroking in slow circles around his cheeks. Feeling was coming back into his body, the pain in his legs returning. It was different somehow, sharper.

“Yes, Doctor. I’m here.”

“Where am I?” His words were becoming more audible. It was easier for him to move his mouth. There was a quick little jab of pain in his arm, but he was still too tired to react.

“He won’t go back under.” That was a different voice, male, one that the Doctor didn’t recognize.

“Ah, just keep him awake.” Another voice, female.

“It’ll make it harder to work.”

“Why can’t we just let him suffer through it?”

The Doctor pulled in a gasp of air when he realized what was going on. The effects of the drugs were now quickly fading from his body, and he realized that his knees were in absolute, screaming agony. They were operating on him, trying to fix his legs.

The Doctor gave a cry and tried tilting his head away from Angie’s hands, arms straining at his sides. Metal clamps held his arms down flat on the wooden operating table, and the same went for his ankles. And they were digging through his shattered knees, pulling and moving bone. Tears sprang into his eyes and he gave another cry, this one of panic. How could they do this to him?

“Sh…” Angie’s voice cooed. He grabbed the Doctor’s thrashing head and straightened it. “Everything’s okay. Sh…”

A desperate, pained sob came from the Doctor’s throat and he opened his tear-filled eyes to look at Angie.

“Why?” he whispered, swallowing down another sob. The pain was terrible, burning through his nerves. He wished with both his hearts that he could escape. “Why are you doing this to me?”

The Doctor wasn’t sure what was done, but the pain suddenly increased. He thrashed against his bonds, back arching, mouth open in a scream. And all the while Angie’s hands were on his face.

“Make it stop! Make it stop! Please make it stop!”

Angie placed his hands on his shoulders and wrestled him back down, despite the Doctor’s best efforts. He wished he could move his legs to get away from this torment. Angie’s fingers were stroking over his shoulders and neck.

“Help me,” the Doctor sobbed. “Please help me.”

“We are helping you,” Angie said. His hands moved up to his tear-soaked face, where he caressed his skin without seeming to care about the deluge. 

“Y-You said you w-weren’t going to torture m-me today,” the Doctor stuttered. He was beginning to shake, body going into shock.

“We’re not. We’re helping you.”

The Doctor opened his eyes and tried peering down at his legs, but he found Angie’s hands blocking his vision.

“No, no, don’t look. It’ll make it worse.”

“W-Which is what I-I-I thought y-you wanted.” The Doctor closed his eyes again anyway. It would make it worse to look at what they were doing to him. He gave a sudden jolt and a scream, twisting his head. “It hurts! It hurts! Stop it! Please!” He was crying harder now. Oh, why did he have to wake up? Why did his body learn so quickly to become immune to whatever they had given him?

“Sh, Doctor.” Angie’s thumb ran over his nose, then over his lips that were parted in gasps and sobs. “Sh… Breathe…”

“I-I-I-I c-can’t,” the Doctor managed to get out. His lungs were beginning to ache with his hitched and frantic breathing.

“You can.” Angie’s voice was soothing. “Take a deep breath in.”

The Doctor didn’t even attempt it. What they were doing to him hurt too much. Angie ran his fingers over his left cheek and circled around his ear in an attempt to soothe.

“Deep breaths.”

“C-C-Can’t!” Another scream tore out of his throat, then a sob. He gave a distressed moan, tilting his head more so that the side of his face could rest against the table. Angie was running his hand down the side of his neck, then circling around his racing pulse. He felt his blood throbbing underneath the other man’s fingers.

“Make it… Make it stop,” the Doctor gasped out. “Hit me in the head or something.”

Angie didn’t respond to this, just kept running his hands over the Doctor’s neck and face and through his hair.

“Sh… Doctor.”

It was going to be a long day.

 

The Doctor breathed a relieved sigh as soon as the clamps were taken off of him. His legs were sore and aching and stinging, and he knew that he was lying in a puddle of his own blood that would soon dry over the other layers of red that had been left on the table during the course of the operation. His throat hurt from screaming and his eyes from crying. His skin was sticky with dried tears, hair ruffled by Angie’s hands. He was finally able to manage deep breaths in and out.

“W-Water,” the Doctor whispered hoarsely. “I need water.”

“We’re giving you an IV,” one of the surgeons explained. “You’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” the Doctor repeated quietly. “Fine.” His tone was cynical and he laughed. “Fine!” His voice was weak, but it came out as a shout nonetheless. 

No one commented, not even Angie, who had his fingers curled in his hair. The Doctor fell silent and frowned.

'Fine.' He nearly laughed again. 'They say I’m going to be fine. They do know what they’re doing to me, right?'

“Angie?” He grunted slightly as the IV was put in his hand.

“Yes?”

“When do I have to go back in the chair?” The Doctor wanted to know. He didn’t want to be surprised like he had been this time. 

“The day after tomorrow. They want to give you a little bit of time to recover.”

“Why? They’re going to hurt me anyway. Does it matter?”

“I suspect that they just don’t want you bleeding out everywhere. That would ruin it.” Angie stroked a finger under the Doctor’s chin, and he found himself tilting his head back to give him better access. Why did this feel good? Why was he sucumbing to it?

“Angie, tell me why I’m letting you touch me.” He needed an answer. It frightened him to no end that he was giving into this. Perhaps Angie, the man who was doing it to him, would know.

“Because it’s better than the pain and you think that I’m going to show you sympathy,” Angie said, finger still caressing.

“How did you know that?” He was right, wasn’t he? The Doctor was waiting for this man’s sympathy to emerge, for him to set him free or stop all this from happening. He was the only one who had showed him kindness, and he seemed fond of him, so why not wait for it?

“Doctor, you’ve been with me for days. You don’t think I understand your head, now?”

“Are you going to show me sympathy?” He was terribly frightened to ask. If Angie wouldn’t give it to him, he would have nobody. 

“Not one little bit.” Despite his words, Angie kept petting him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the Doctor's subconscious seems to be torturing him.

"Tea, why do you hate me?" Angie's voice was quiet. Tea lay in bed next to him, but there was a space between them on the mattress. If she moved over at all, she would be falling off the bed.

"I don't," she responded in slight irritation. "I'm tired. Just stop talking and let me sleep."

"See! It's that tone, Tea!"

She sighed, head turned away from him. She really wasn't in the mood to have this conversation. She rolled onto her side and didn't respond.

"Is it him?"

"I want to sleep, Angie."

"Is it him? Is he bothering you?"

"Of course he's bothering me," she muttered. "You let him in our house. Are you forgetting what he did?"

"No, but-"

"But what? You're treating him like a favored pet. He's a monster, Angie!"

"But don't you think that it's satisfying to bring such a man down onto his knees, to grovel at your feet and be nothing more than a stupid pet?"

"Why do you feel like you have to do that?"

"It gives me a sense of victory."

"His death should be enough. You didn't have to bring him here." Tea pulled the blankets closer around her, shifting them off of Angie.

"I did, actually."

"Why?"

"It hurts him, Tea." Angie's voice was matter-of-fact. "Are you bothered by that?"

"No, he deserves to hurt."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Are you growing sympathetic towards him?"

"What?"

Tea rolled around to face Angie. His face was shrouded in the shadows of the night.

"I asked if you're starting to feel sympathy for him. It seems that way."

"What do you mean?"

"How you're always petting him and such, and talking to him, and soothing him." Tea's voice was cold. "What's the point of all that?"

"He doesn't like it."

"Oh, he doesn't? Then why does he seem to yearn for it?"

Angie sighed and put a hand over his face. "You don't understand." His voice was distressed.

"Then explain," Tea snapped, rolling onto her back and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Mental torture."

"Okay…"

"It's breaking him. I think it hurts him worse than that chair."

"He should have just stayed in that chair. He should be dead by now." Tea couldn't understand Angie's reasoning, couldn't fathom why he would bring such a monster into their house and fondle him.

"But if he was dead, he wouldn't be able to be tortured more."

Tea frowned. "Why do we care so much?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"It was 900 years ago," Tea clarified. "Why do we care? We've made lives for ourselves, we're living comfortably and perfectly fine. We've rebuilt ourselves. Why do we care?"

Angie had no answer for this. He was quiet for some time.

"Fine, he'll go back tomorrow. Maybe he'll die."

"Just leave him there, Angie."

"I can't."

"Then lock him up somewhere," Tea said bitterly.

"It's not that bad having him here." Angie placed a hand on Tea's shoulder, trying to console her.

"What if he attacks one of us?"

"He's chained up."

"Yeah, to the sofa. He could get out."

"Not with his knees the way they are."

"Whatever. I don't like him being here."

"And you're mad at me for that?" Tea looked over at Angie. His eyes were sad.

"Yes, I am."

"If you want to be mad at anyone, be mad at him." He gripped her arm harder. "Think about what he did."

"That was a long time ago."

"It doesn't matter. He still did it. We all know he's guilty. Why are we arguing this?"

"Because it does matter. We should just let him go."

"Let him go? Let him go?!" Angie stood up from the bed and began pacing in anger. "And what are you going to do? Set him free?!"

"No, but, maybe you should talk to the Justiciar and see if we can let him go."

"That's a terrible idea, Tea!"

"Fine! Then why don't you go sleep on the couch next to your pet?!" Tea rolled away from him.

"If it makes you happy!" Angie stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

 

The Doctor turned his head to look down the hall at the sound of footsteps. They were loud and angry, definitely Angie's.

"What is it?" he asked, voice a little hoarse.

"My wife," the man responded, coming around the sofa and sitting down heavily. The Doctor saw his head turn towards him in the dark. "You should be sleeping."

"My knees hurt," he responded, turning his head away from him and resting it on the rug. He wasn't used to sleeping this much, but the strains he was being put through just made him so tired. Usually, he could run on one hour a week, (he had insomnia,) and Gallifreyans didn't even need to sleep as much as humans, but he was exhausted. His mind and body hurt, and wished that he could have his bed in the TARDIS, where he could lay there for a few days until he recovered. The thought of the bliss that he would never have brought tears to his eyes.

They took me from this. How could they?

The Doctor couldn't help sniffling a little, and he felt Angie's hand on his shoulder.

"What is it?"

The Doctor moved away from him, as far as the chain would allow. "Don't touch me."

"Alright. You should sleep."

"I don't want to. Why did you get kicked out of bed?"

"Tea doesn't like you being here."

"Well, maybe you should listen to her," the Doctor said. "Just let me die already. It wouldn't be that hard. You hate me. You all hate me. Just let me die." He was thinking of his bed again. Maybe death wouldn't be a good thing. Where would he go? Hell? The void?

'Well, wherever it is, I won't have my bed.'

The Doctor pulled his robe closer around him, realizing that he was cold. A shiver ran up his spine and he tried to snuggle deeper into the carpet.

"Is that the only thing she's angry about?" the Doctor asked after Angie gave no reply. "Does she not like how you treat me?"

"She doesn't."

"Then stop treating me like this!" The Doctor snapped. He shivered again. "Dammit! It's cold!"

"Doctor, be quiet!" Angie hissed. "I don't want you waking up my kids."

"I can be as noisy as I want! Get me a blanket!"

"Doctor…"

"I'm cold!"

"Fine!" Angie rose off the sofa, his movements frustrated, and left the room. He came back a few moments later with a blanket that he threw over the Doctor. He clutched the soft fabric tight to his body, rubbing his cheek against it.

"Thank you," he said quietly. Maybe he would start to warm up soon.

Angie settled back down onto the sofa, laying on his back. There was a rustle of fabric; he most likely had gotten himself a blanket too.

"Wait a tick. You're sleeping out here?"

"I don't have any other place to."

"How do you expect me to get any sleep with you around?" the Doctor asked.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I hate you, yet you're right near me. It's unnerving."

"You mean you're afraid of me."

The Doctor growled a little in irritation. That was true. He was afraid of Angie. He was afraid of the way he treated him, and he was afraid of the way that he was sucumbing to this treatment.

"Shut up."

The two men fell into silence and the Doctor closed his eyes.

'I'll never be able to sleep at this rate.'

 

When the Doctor finally slept, he dreamt of Clara. He hadn't seen her in such a long time, and he missed her with a terrible ache. He was surprised that he hadn't actually had more dreams about her.

"Doctor!"

He jerked up at her voice, half asleep in bed, making sure his pajamas were in order, and that he even had any on.

"No, Clara! You can't come into my bedroom!"

"Ah! So this is your bedroom!"

"No, it's not! Uh…"

"I'm coming in!"

"Clara!"

Flustered, the Doctor tried to straighten his blankets as the door to his bedroom suddenly opened. It wasn't the bedroom he was used to though. It was too plain, too normal, too human.

Clara was looking beautiful as always, her dress dark blue and a bit too short in the Doctor's opinion. She marched in carrying a tray with a smile on her face.

"Breakfast in bed!" she announced, coming over and placing the tray in his lap.

"But, I'm…" The Doctor wasn't quite sure what to say.

"You're what? Come on." She gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. "You're always hungry. Eat up."

"Clara, there's nothing on the tray." The Doctor was looking down at it. Certainly there had been food a few seconds ago.

"Sure there is."

"I'm looking." What was Clara talking about? Had she gone crazy?

"Well, you'll just have to look harder." She patted him on the knee and the Doctor gasped, jerking, tray falling off his lap.

"Don't do that, Clara. That hurts."

"What? This?" She did it again.

"Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Stop it!" There were tears burning in the corners of the Doctor's eyes. "It hurts!"

"What do you mean it hurts?" Clara began pulling the blankets off of him. "What could you have possibly done to yourself in bed?" The blankets were pulled away and the Doctor realized that he was only in his pants. He looked at her and blushed.

"You're knees seem to be fine." She ran a finger over the unmarred skin and the Doctor breathed a pained hiss. "Anywhere else that hurts, silly?"

He looked at her, eyes pained. "Does everywhere count?"

She gave a little laugh. "Stop joking and eat your breakfast."

"But there's no food…" He trailed off, looking at the tray that was laying beside him. It now held a plate of muffins and pancakes. His stomach growled looking at it, and his mouth began to water.

"Can I…?" He reached out a tentative hand for it.

"Of course. I made it for you."

The Doctor paused in his movements, finding that Clara was staring at him, and he blushed again.

'She finally realized that I'm mostly naked.'

"You don't wear pajamas to bed?" Her face was going a bit red too.

"Well, I usually do, but… Hey!" The Doctor put a hand to his face, skin stinging from Clara's sudden slap. "What'd you do that for?!"

"Do what?" Clara was looking at him innocently with those big brown eyes of hers.

"You hit me!"

"Eat your breakfast, Doctor. Or do I have to feed you?" With a giggle, she picked a muffin up from the tray and brought it to his mouth. He refused to move his lips.

"Don't you want to eat?" she asked, lowering her arm.

"I'm not hungry."

"Sure you are." She brought the muffin back up again. "Open."

"I don't want to eat."

"Why not?"

"B-Because…" The Doctor found that he couldn't answer. His throat was becoming clogged up with sobs that he had no choice to let out. Why was he crying? He was hungry. Why wasn't he eating? What was wrong with him? He fell over onto his side, turned away from her.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" He felt Clara's soft fingers on his back and he flinched.

"Do-Don't touch me," he murmured, sniffling, tears streaming down his face.

What is wrong with me?!

"Doctor…"

"Don't touch me!"

"Doctor!" Clara's voice was harsh. He felt a tug on his neck that choked him, and realized that she was pulling on his bow tie.

'Wait, but I wasn't wearing a bow tie!'

"What?" His voice was quiet. She loosened her grip.

"Everything's going to be okay."

"What do you mean?" he choked out. His words were followed by a tormented sob. He felt so broken inside, and all she had tried to do was give him breakfast in bed.

The Doctor sat up and wiped his face, eyes meeting hers.

"Just eat your breakfast."

"I don't want to."

"Everything's going to be okay."

"But-"

The Doctor was cut off as she slapped him in the face again, hard.

 

He woke with a cry and sat up, looking around frantically, face stinging. Torm was standing beside him and he giggled.

"Did you just hit me?!" the Doctor shouted. At that, the little boy did it again, small hand connecting with his face.

"Ow! You little brat!" The Doctor tried lunging for Torm, but the boy was too quick, especially with the Doctor injured the way he was. He danced out of his way and stood a few feet away from him, somewhere the chain wouldn't allow him to follow. He pointed at him and laughed.

"You fucking twat! Get back here!"

The Doctor was beginning to realize that he hadn't swore so much in quite a long time. He was just so angry!

"Doctor, what's going on?" That was Angie's voice coming from the hall.

"Your idiot son was hitting me!" the Doctor snapped, turning as Angie entered the room. He was dressed and ready for the day, which had sadly arrived. Light was streaming in from the windows.

"Torm, what did I tell you about going near him?" Angie put on a stern voice, giving his son a very serious look.

The little boy looked down at his feet. "You told me not to." His voice was quiet.

"Then why were you doing it?"

"Because I thought it would be funny."

"Nothing about this is funny, you dimwit!" the Doctor shouted at Torm.

"Stop yelling at my son, Doctor!"

"Oh, and you're going to make me?" The Doctor turned a glare on Angie.

"Yes, I actually am. You're going back to the chair today."

"But…" The Doctor couldn't find his voice. His entire body had gone weak. He felt like he was about to faint. "You told me not until tomorrow."

"Yeah, well I changed my mind. Time for episode three."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain and hallucinations. Honestly, what else did you expect?

Angie watched the Doctor as he was being secured into the chair. He fought hard despite the horrible state of his knee, screaming and yelling his defiance.

"No! Stop it! Don't do this to me!" He froze for a second, eyes flitting to Angie's. "You can't let them do this to me!"

"You think I'm here to protect you?" Angie called back. He held up the remote that controlled the chair, and the Doctor's eyes went wide.

"Y-You can't." He didn't seem to care about how he was being strapped in now.

"I can and I will."

The Doctor held such betrayal on his face, and Angie chuckled. This man had come to start trusting him? This was fun to play with him.

'Silly little pet.'

"Cameras rolling?" Angie asked as the guards stepped away from the Doctor.

"Yep. Go right ahead."

Angie looked down at the remote, contemplating where to start.

'Same old or something new?'

A guard came to look over his shoulder. "You going to start any time soon?"

"I'm thinking," Angie grumbled. Did he really want to do this? This wasn't the kind of torment that he specialized in.

'Put your name to use, man.'

Angie gritted his teeth and pressed a button. The Doctor screamed and blood flew. With a hiss of anger, he pressed another button.

"Angie!" The Doctor's voice was tortured.

"i'm not going to help you, Doctor!" He jabbed violently at the remote, and the screams that followed echoed around the ceiling.

'I'm going to show you. You watching, Tea? See! I don't like him! I don't like him at all!'

To prove this, Angie hit another button, and with that came another scream. There were tears on the Doctor's face, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Please stop it," he murmured. "This isn't you, Angie."

"It is." Angie vented his anger through the control of this nightmarish contraption that had been made for the Doctor. He was starting to realize that he liked the sound of the screams in his ears. "Are you forgetting my name?!" He pressed another button. "Anguish Will Make the Doctor Scream! And that's exactly what I'm doing!"

 

The Doctor felt that two hours had passed, but he was still in the chair, still enduring somehow. Angie's control of the chair had at first been violent and furious, but it had now changed to slow, tactful movements that hurt even more. His voice was gone already, and any attempt at screaming was just an airy scratch in his raw throat. He was slumped in the chair, eyes closed, exhausted right down to the core. He didn't know how he was going on.

'I just want to die.'

The Doctor's mouth opened in a gasp as a knife came down and began to slit his left thigh open in precise, neat movements. He didn't attempt to move away from it though. That would make the cut messy, make it worse.

'Oh god, please stop.'

He honestly couldn't believe that Angie was doing this to him, and he felt stupid for that. Of course Angie would do this to him. Everyone on this stupid tree would, so why had he thought Angie would be any different? Why had he thought that he would be shown sympathy from a man who tortured him mentally and emotionally?

'I'm so stupid!' Fresh tears spilled down the Doctor's face at this thought. 'I'm such an idiot!' He didn't understand what was happening to him. Was he breaking? Was he already broken and denying it? His emotions were a jumble that hurt more than the knife in his leg.

The knife was removed and he braced himself, waiting for what more there was to come, but there was nothing. He tentatively opened his eyes and peered around the room. Angie was walking over to him, remote handed off to someone else at the moment. There was a wooden jug in his hand.

"I'm not drinking anything you give me," he whispered furiously.

"Well, we want your voice back, don't we?"

"No," the Doctor hissed. He shook his head as Angie reached out for him, trying to avoid his grasp as best as he could. There was nothing he could do though when he felt the fingers tugging on his hair.

"Open your mouth." Angie's voice was harsh.

The Doctor gritted his teeth, tightened his lips, and hardened his gaze. Angie just stared right back at him, a test of wills.

'I won't do what you say. I won't do what you say.'

But that gaze was starting to unnerve him. It was dark and cruel, eyes devoid of sympathy. They were eyes that hungered for his pain, and under that crushing gaze, the Doctor realized that he couldn't win. Eyes softening in defeat, he slowly parted his mouth.

"There we go."

The Doctor drank earnestly. At the moment, he didn't care if this was only meant to give him his voice back. His mouth was parched, and his throat aching, and every swallow felt like bliss. Angie didn't give him all of what was in the jug, and he reached out for it as best as he could with only his mouth when he began to pull it away.

"No, that's for later."

'Later? What do you mean later? I can't be here that long!'

The Doctor knew he would be able to speak again, but he didn't. He just looked at Angie pleadingly, asking him to end this. Angie's eyes denied his request, and he went back over and took the remote from the man who had been holding it from him.

"No! I can't take this anymore! Kill me! Please!" The Doctor was terrified. His fear was a storm of ice that was eating him up inside, chewing on his stomach and dancing in his veins, shaking every part of him. Angie's hand hovered over the remote.

And then it continued.

 

Pain was a strange thing. It was a sensation that told the body that something was wrong, and people took advantage of that. People trapped others beneath them and used a perfectly normal function to torment them. The Doctor could understand why others did this, but not these people. How had their hate survived 900 years? How could hate for one person be so extreme that it had turned him into a broken and bleeding mess for the third time in a week?

The torture hadn't stopped yet. Something had been injected into him so that he would remain conscious, and the pain of his mind fighting it was unbearable. The pain of staying awake and submitting to this was unbearable.

He'd lost his voice multiple times, but always Angie would come forward with that mixture that would heal and soothe his throat, give him his voice back so that he could scream again. He was still keeping that up.

This torture session was longer than the others, and the Doctor realized that he was most likely going to die. That was good. He was done living. It didn't matter if he left Clara behind, abandoned her with no explanation. He was just so tired, and River was waiting for him.

At the thought of Clara, he heard her voice in his mind.

"Doctor, please don't do this. Don't leave me."

He wearily opened his eyes, saw a blurry figure of someone that couldn't possibly be Clara, then closed them again. His parted lips spread wider in a scream as his right arm was broken. He didn't even pay attention to what contraption was causing the pain anymore. He just felt it and wished that it would stop.

'So, I just imagined her voice.'

"Doctor."

"No, Clara," he murmured. "Not here. Not real." He was only able to manage a gasp as whips dashed across his bare stomach. They circled and came back down again, over and over, leaving red slashes over skin that was already stained with the color.

"Doctor!" Her voice was tormented. Even with his eyes closed he could see the tears on her face, could imagine each wet track in his head.

"Just let me die." The tormented groan was meant for both Angie and Clara, and both responded.

"Not yet."

"But I don't want you to die! This has to stop!"

"Clara…" He was too weak to continue. I want to die.

"You can't. Please. I need you."

'Nobody needs me.'

"Did you not hear what I just said?!" Her words were ironically accompanied by a knife that slashed across his face and tilted his head to the side. The Doctor didn't fight it, just drooped his head and panted.

"Doctor." That was Angie. "You're not screaming anymore. Lose your voice again?"

"N-No." His words were quiet. Was he finally losing consciousness? It seemed that way. Would they let him?

"Getting sleepy, are we?"

The Doctor didn't respond. He licked his parched lips, mouth as dry as the air in a desert. He needed water, that other thing they were giving him, anything.

"Stop it, Angie. I-I can't…" He didn't finish, breathing a heavy, tired sigh. He opened his eyes and saw Clara standing a few feet away from him, face a reflection of his torment, skin damp with tears, eyes wide and glistening.

"Doctor…"

"Don't watch this, Clara."

"I have to help you."

"You can't help me, Clara. Go away."

"Clara? Who's Clara?" The Doctor didn't even hear Angie's voice anymore. Everything was blurred in his vision except for Clara. He wasn't sure whether or not the torture had continued. His body was going numb and he was feeling dizzy.

"But, Doctor…" Her eyes were so hurt and it made his hearts ache. His pain hurt her, and her pain hurt him. It was a neverending loop that brought a sob up into his throat.

"Clara, you can't watch this."

"I have to help you!"

"You can't help me."

All the while, Angie had continued speaking. The Doctor only caught the word 'hallucinating' but he waved it off. It didn't matter. Clara was here. Nothing mattered but her.

He vaguely sensed people walking towards him, and he gave an angry, incomprehensible shout as one of them walked through Clara's image. It flickered, but she remained where she was, solid and tangible.

"Clara…"

Something felt different about the Doctor's position in the chair. Maybe he had been released. It didn't matter. Clara was still crying.

"Clara, please don't cry. Not over me."

"But I love you, Doctor."

Those words froze him right in his tracks.

"You what?"

"I love you and I can't stand seeing you like this! God, Doctor! Just get out of this, please!"

"I-I love you too, Clara."

He felt himself being lifted out of the chair, but his vision began to go black around the edges. He kept his eyes on Clara. Her lips mouthing: 'I love you,' was the last thing he saw.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie has a change of heart.

The Doctor shuddered awake as cold water was dumped over him. He gasped and sat up, pain jolting his body with the quick movement. He looked around and found Angie towering over him.

He blinked his eyes at the sunlight that glared down at him, realizing that he wasn't in Angie's house, his collar and robe replaced. He moved his gaze away from Angie to his chain. He nearly fainted again when he found it fastened to the chair.

"What…?" He looked at Angie again, disoriented. "What happened?" There was a stinging in his arm, most likely from some sort of IV.

"We took you, gave you some water, then brought you back here." His voice was cold.

"Y-You usually take me home."

"Not this time, Doctor."

"Why'd you wake me?" he groaned. Everything hurt, and unconsciousness was bliss compared to this. If only they could have just left him to die. He would have eventually if he hadn't been attended to. "You-You're not going to-"

"Torture you again? No. Not till tomorrow."

"Then why am I awake?" The Doctor laid down on the hard ground underneath him with a wince and closed his eyes. "What changed? Why am I not in your house?"

"Tea doesn't want you there," Angie explained.

"And she's angry at you too, right? Are you taking your anger out on me?"

Angie didn't respond, and something clicked together in the Doctor's mind. They were both near the chair…

Feeling stupid that he hadn't thought of it sooner, the Doctor leaped to his feet and lunged for Angie. The man was taken by surprise, obviously not having expected him to move so quick. The Doctor hadn't really either. His body was screaming at him in protest.

The two struggled for a bit, but the Doctor had the upper hand due to Angie's shock. He shoved him into the chair with a yell of pain and anger and started fighting for the clamps.

"What the hell are you doing, Doctor?!" Angie kneed him in the groin just as he got a clamp over his right wrist. The Doctor stumbled away and fell onto his back, panting. Everything ached and stung.

"What do you think?" he panted.

"Attempting something that would undoubtedly fail." There was a clink as Angie removed the clamp, and the Doctor heard him walk over. His hearts raced as the other man stopped above him. "What do you say, Doctor?"

"Go sit back in the chair!" he spat, sitting up. He glared at Angie defiantly, who met his hostile gaze with earnest.

"You first." The man knelt and grabbed him by the Doctor tried pulling himself away, but Angie yanked hard on the chain, pulling him forward so that they were face-to-face.

"You'll pay for that," he growled.

"L-Let go of me." Strength was leaving the Doctor's voice. He grabbed at Angie's hands, trying to pry his fingers off.

"Nope."

The Doctor gave a yelp as he was suddenly yanked up by the collar and shoved into the chair. He was in too much pain to fight as Angie strapped him in.

"Y-You can't do this. I just went through this. Please, you can't." Frightened tears burned in the corners of his eyes. "Angie…" The name was uttered as a moan of distress. Angie's hand had slipped into the pocket of his coat and pulled out the remote for the chair.

"Just you and me, heh, Doctor? Nobody watching. Just you and me." Angie's smile was menacing and a shudder ran up the Doctor's spine. He turned his head away as the other man reached out for his face, but he was kept in place by all the clamps. A sob worked its way up his throat as his fingers stroked his cheek. "There, there, Doctor. It'll be okay."

With a snarl, the Doctor tried snapping at Angie's fingers, but he moved his grip to his hair before his teeth reached him. He took a strong grip and yanked, the Doctor giving a pained cry at the stinging in his scalp.

"Stop it," the Doctor sobbed. "Stop it, please."

"But we haven't even started yet." Angie pulled away from him, fingers hovering over the remote.

"Don't do it."

His finger touched a button, thankfully not hard enough to activate it, and Angie smirked at him. "I will."

"What are you going to do to me?" The Doctor's breath shook in his throat and his eyes were wide.

"Everything."

Angie pressed the button and The Doctor flinched as a needle was jabbed into the side of his neck. The liquid swam inside him like acid, burning white-hot in his veins. He gritted his teeth over a scream and squeezed his eyes shut, tears falling over his face. Screaming would only bring Angie satisfaction and he couldn't let him have that.

"Tired of screaming, are you?" Angie chuckled a little bit. "Don't worry. We'll soon fix that."

"Stop," the Doctor forced out.

"I'll stop when I want to."

The Doctor flinched and groaned as whips licked over his thighs. His robe lessened the impact a little bit, but the fabric had been sliced and fresh blood was starting to leak through.

"Come on, just scream." The whips came down again and he jerked. "It's not that hard."

"Why are you doing this?" the Doctor moaned. "What have I ever done to you?"

"My ancestors-"

"What have I ever done to you, Angie?" He tried twisting away from the pain as a knife came down and sliced his arm, digging his teeth into his bottom lip to keep down pained cries.

Angie didn't respond, pressed another button. The Doctor hissed through his teeth as metal clamped around his left forearm and tightened, bone crunching.

"That should have done it." Angie's voice was angry. "Just scream!"

"No," the Doctor choked out. He opened his eyes and glared at Angie, and the metal around his arm tightened. He threw his head back and breathed heavily through his nose, tightening his jaw. Tears ran over the dried blood on his face, flaking some of it off. "Stop it."

"Can't." The metal came away from the Doctor's arm, just to move to his other. His muscles were taut as he braced himself for the pain, but it didn't come.

"All I want you to do is scream for me."

The Doctor didn't respond. He couldn't. He knew that if he opened his mouth, it would be in an admittance of pain. He refused to give Angie that satisfaction.

"Do it."

He gasped as his arm was broken, then quickly closed his mouth before anything else could come out. The metal just continued tightening, crushing and crunching. He fought the anguished sobs that were rising in his throat, creating an ache.

'I can't do this anymore. Oh, I can't. Someone help me.'

"What did I ever do to you, Angie?" he groaned. "Nothing. I did absolutely nothing." He raised his head to look at him. The other man was a blur through his sheen of tears. "Nothing."

"My wife hates me because of you." His arm was released and the ring above his head was slowly spinning. A long, jagged blade passed right in front of his eyes, nearly touching his nose.

"No. It's not my fault."

"Yes it is." The other rings were rotating. A knife grazed the Doctor's right knee and he moaned through his teeth.

"You're the one who brought me with you," he gasped out. "You're the one who treated me like a pet."

"And you make a bad pet. Never listen. Never submit."

The Doctor managed a chuckle. "Oh, it'll take a lot longer than a week to put me on my knees."

"And you're nearly there, aren't you? You're breaking. I can see it in your eyes."

"Of course I'm breaking!" the Doctor bellowed. "Who wouldn't?! Who wouldn't?!"

"Ooh, raising your voice. Does that mean you're going to scream too?"

"No. I will not." The Doctor's eyes hardened with determination and he clenched his teeth. He hissed and jerked as fire suddenly came down to lick at his feet with scorching tongues. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose.

'Don't scream. Don't scream.'

"Damn you!" The fire stopped and he heard the remote being thrown to the ground in anger. "Damn you!"

The Doctor opened his eyes to look at Angie, just as the man strode over to him and grabbed him, one hand on his robe and the other on his collar. "What is wrong with you?!"

"Nothing!" The Doctor spit in Angie's face. "What's wrong with you?!"

Angie cursed and wiped his face on his sleeve, then slapped the Doctor across the face. He made no sound and instantly straightened his head to glare back at him.

"Let go of me."

"You're in no place to make demands."

"Why do you want to hurt me, Angie?" The Doctor's voice was tired. "Why are you doing this?"

"My own reasons," he seethed.

"Is this just because of your wife? Are you just trying to prove to her that you hate me?"

"I do hate you."

The Doctor searched Angie's eyes. They burned with loathing, but behind that fire there was something else. It was softer. It was sad.

"No you don't."

"I do. I'll show you." Angie released him and bent to grab the remote, took a step back so that he wouldn't be in the way of all the torture mechanisms. "Hmm… Where's the worst place I can hurt you?"

The Doctor suddenly got a terrible idea. He wanted to protect a certain, sensitive part of his body that worked with reproduction.

"Left shoulder," he said quietly. It would hurt worse than what Angie most likely had planned, but at the same time it would be better.

"What?" Angie looked up from the remote, brows furrowed.

"Left shoulder," the Doctor said again, a little louder this time.

"Why? It's just a shoulder." One finger moved towards a button.

"No! Wait!"

Angie raised his eyebrows and looked at him curiously.

"I have an extremely sensitive nerve cluster in my left shoulder. It'll hurt me worse than what you have planned."

"And what do I have planned?" He smirked at him.

"We're both men and we both know what you have planned," the Doctor said, becoming frustrated. If only Angie would listen to him.

'I can't believe I'm actually pleading for someone to hurt me there.'

"And why should I change it?" His finger was now grazing the button.

"Because my left shoulder would hurt more."

"How do I know that you're not lying to me?" Angie seemed incredibly skeptical.

"Why don't you find out then?"

Frowning, Angie lowered the remote and came over. A curious hand moved his robe away from his left shoulder. The Doctor gasped when he stroked his fingers over his skin. Angie glanced at his face with curiosity, then roamed his fingers in a gentle circle. The Doctor couldn't help it: he breathed a heavy sigh and his body went slack, eyes closing. The caresses on that shoulder felt absolutely incredible.

"Are you just acting?" Angie asked, continuing his ministrations.

The Doctor was too far into a state of bliss to answer. His response was a quiet, pleased moan.

"Oh, cut it out, Doctor."

"Mmm…"

"Fine. Left shoulder it is, then." Angie pulled his hand away, but returned it to thump him hard on the shoulder. The Doctor gasped, eyes going wide, pain sparking in his hypersensitive nerves.

The Doctor's breath hitched as Angie stepped away and raised the remote again. His eyes were pleading when he looked at them.

"How about you don't do this at all?" he asked. "Nobody said you had to."

"I did."

Angie suddenly pressed a button and something familiar was stabbed into the Doctor's left shoulder. He released a scream that was loud enough to echo and bounce around the high, domed ceiling. His body went slack of its own accord, head sagging back against the chair. He could already feel himself losing consciousness.

"Angie!" He called the name desperately. He had to stop this. He had to help him.

Instead, he just pressed a button.

 

Angie couldn't tell whether or not the Doctor was conscious, but he kept screaming even if he wasn't. He had been right about his left shoulder, and he allowed himself a smile of satisfaction.

He had no idea how long they had been here, how long he had been doing this to him, but finally, he lowered the remote.

'If I keep going, he'll die.'

The Doctor had fallen silent anyway, voice and strength gone. He lay slumped in the chair with his eyes closed, a sheen of sweat and blood over his body, his robe completely ruined. Angie took the time to realize that he had done that to him.

'But that's…. that's not what I do…'

Confused, Angie dropped the remote and went over to the Doctor.

'Why did I do this? I'm the one that didn't want him to die. I wanted to keep him as a pet, and I almost killed him.'

Angie felt himself tearing up. He would have never done this to a cat or some other animal that one would keep as a pet.

'It's because he's a person,' he realized as he began to release him from the chair. 'But how can he be a person, a monster, and a pet all at the same time?'

Angie took the Doctor's body into his arms and pulled him gently down onto the ground. He sat so that his head rested in his lap. He would carry him back to his home soon, but he wanted this moment with him, in privacy.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," he murmured, running a hand through his hair. "I let my anger take control of me. I didn't mean to do this. I didn't even mean to do any of this. I don't even know why I'm doing this!" He ran his hand over his face and looked up at the ceiling of branches. "We were taught to hate you, and by the gods, I do, but at the same time I don't. We were all raised hating you. Even with our names." He looked down at the Doctor again. "And I'm sorry." With a grunt, he rose to his feet, hefting the Doctor in his arms, and left the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor finally gets some rest, and a lot of people are unhappy with Angie.

The Doctor was confused when he woke up. Angie's floor wasn't this soft. Angie's floor didn't have pillows or blankets. This wasn't Angie's floor. It was a bed.

'Bed? Why am I in a bed?'

He was too tired to sit up, too tired to even open his eyes. He curled one arm around the pillow and tugged the blankets closer around him with the other, breathing a heavy, pleased sigh. He couldn't believe how much he had missed this. The collar was heavy around his neck, but he didn't care. He was in a bed, a real bed!

'Oh, I hope to Pythia that I'm not dreaming.'

He felt tears well in his eyes at the thought. What if it was a dream and he was still in that chair? What if Angie was still hurting him? What if he had just been left there, only to suffer when he woke.

The Doctor heaved a sob that ached all throughout his body. Was he dreaming? Could he usually feel pain in dreams?

'Please don't be a dream. Please.'

"Doctor?" His name was nearly drowned out by another sob that escaped his throat. He didn't bother turning to face Angie.

"G-Go away," he spluttered. He sniffled and released another sob.

'Why am I crying so hard?!'

"Doctor, is everything okay? How bad are you hurting?" He felt Angie's hand on his head, and the touch made him shudder in revulsion and fear.

"D-Don't t-touch me!" the Doctor snapped. He sniffled and swallowed, trying to stop his wailing, but it was to no avail.

"Sh, Doctor, it's alright."

"Get away from me!" Anger turned his words into a clear statement. The Doctor abruptly sat up and twisted around, grabbing Angie's wrist with his left hand. The sudden movement sparked pain deep through his left shoulder and his vision was peppered with black dots, but he held firm.

"Doctor-"

"Am I dreaming?" he asked, voice harsh.

"What?"

"Am I dreaming?" He tightened his grip on Angie's wrist, no matter how much it hurt. "I must be dreaming. I'm in a bed."

"No, Doctor, you're not dreaming." His voice was tight. Apparently he was bringing the other man pain. Good. "Just lay back down." Angie's other hand came to rest on his, but the Doctor didn't loosen his fingers.

"Why did you hurt me?" He wiped his tears away with his free hand, realizing that his arm was bare, which led to him also noticing that his torso was bare. At least he had trousers on. His left shoulder was bandaged.

'Odd. Angie never tends to my wounds. What is the man up to?'

'Trying to put me in a false sense of security, that's what,' the Doctor decided. He'd done it before. Of course he would do it again.

"Doctor, release me." Angie's voice was commanding.

"Fine." The Doctor's hand was shaking when he let go of Angie, and he fell onto his back with a groan. He couldn't believe how much everything hurt, especially his shoulder. He kept his eyes on Angie, though his vision was blurry.

"Just rest."

The Doctor snorted, sharpening the ache in his chest. "Because that is going to get me anywhere. You'll just bring me back to that chair."

"I want to talk to the Justiciar to see to it that you be set free." Angie sat down on the edge of the bed, and the Doctor tried moving away from him, but agony rippled through his body and he gave a sharp cry, then lay still.

'Great. I can't move.' His stomach twisted in fear. Angie, the man who had put him in this condition, the man who had turned him into a worthless pet, was sitting next to him and he couldn't move away, couldn't defend himself.

'Like I could even defend myself in the first place.'

"You're lying," the Doctor finally managed to say.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because everything you've done is to make me trust you so that you can take that trust and crush it. It's all part of the torture, isn't it? Make me feel safe? Make me feel like I can rely on you? Then you do this to me." The Doctor glared at him, trying to hide the fear he felt.

Apparently it was to no avail.

"You're shaking," Angie noted. He took one of the Doctor's hands in both of his and stroked his fingers. The soft, gentle sensation felt so good after all the pain, but the Doctor wished he could move away from it. He tried pulling his hand away, but Angie gripped his wrist, continuing to stroke over his palm with the other hand. It made the Doctor shake even more, not that he was trying to, but fear was bubbling up in his limbs, taking control.

"Don't touch me."

"I will touch you if I wish. Relax, Doctor."

"I can't relax with you bloody touching me!" He succeeded in pulling his hand away, but ended up cradling it against his chest. There was a terrible burning and aching in his nerves. He found more tears involuntarily brimming over his eyelids. "I-I wish I had never come here. I wish none of this had happened. I want it to all be a bad dream."

"I know, Doctor." Angie's hand came to rest on the Doctor's right shoulder and he flinched.

"I-I told you n-not t-to touch me." He sniffled, trying to suppress the rest of his tears. His throat ached.

"And I told you that I can if I want to." Angie was running gentle circles around his right shoulder. "This argument is pointless."

The Doctor's anger slowly began to fade as Angie continued caressing him. It just felt so good. He closed his eyes and found his lips parting in a contented sigh. In a few minutes, he let his arm lay back at his side, leaving himself completely open. It scared him, but he craved the gentle touches at the same time.

Angie was running his hand down over his right arm to his fingers, and then back up again. He then changed tactics, stroking circles and imaginary designs over the Doctor's chest.

He relaxed his head against the pillow, tilted to the side, and gave a faint smile.

"This feels so good, Angie."

"That's the point." His hand traced down his stomach and back up to his chest. "i can remove the collar and touch your neck."

The Doctor was surprised at the words coming out of his mouth. "Please do."

Angie's ministrations stopped, but only for the collar to be removed. The air felt strange on his now bare neck. He tilted his head back without any direction, and he soon felt Angie's thumb running up and down his throat.

"Mmm…"

"I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"Really?" The Doctor's tone was incredulous. "You're hurting me now, Angie."

"The pain from me is all in your head."

"And my mind is a powerful thing." There was still the fear cold in his veins, especially with Angie touching him, but he couldn't resist, not when it was so welcome after the physical agony. It confused him to no end, and he wished that it could stop and continue all at the same time.

The Doctor drew in a gasp as Angie suddenly ventured to his left shoulder. His eyes went wide and he looked at the man leaning over him.

"Don't." That was the only word he could manage.

"Why not?" Angie ran his fingers in an experimental circle and the Doctor groaned, eyes closing and head lolling to the side, There was such a sweet sensation in his nerves, so sweet that it nearly ached. Angie did it again and the Doctor clenched his teeth over a moan. It was almost painful to let the touching continue; there wasn't much he could do about it, especially when he was incapacitated like this. He knew that he wouldn't be able to move even if he tried. His limbs felt like they had turned to jelly and his mind was clouded to everything but Angie's touch. He wondered if it was possible to faint from something that felt too good.

The Doctor couldn't keep in a loud moan of pleasure as Angie continued touching him there, fingers dancing over his sensitive flesh. Even through the bandage, the sensation was divine.

"Shut up, Doctor," Angie hissed. "Stop being dramatic. I don't want my family to think that I'm molesting you."

"Y-You basically are," the Doctor whispered. He gasped and groaned, twisting his head to the other side. He couldn't believe how good this felt. He hadn't been touched there in a very long time. It was an intimate spot for Gallifreyans, almost as much so as the sex organs, especially since pain and pleasure in the left shoulder could render their bodies completely useless. He should have felt violated with Angie touching him there, but each stroke of his fingers was too heavenly for him to care.

He could only manage a groan of despair when Angie's hand started moving away.

"No, no, don't stop! Please don't stop!"

"But you just said-"

"Don't care," the Doctor panted, longing for Angie's ministrations on his sensitive flesh. "Feels too good."

"Doctor, if this counts as sex among your people…"

"I-It doesn't. Just, commonly used among married couples and the like." He opened his eyes to look at Angie pleadingly. "Please."

Angie rolled his eyes. "Alright." The Doctor gasped, then smiled as Angie's hand returned to his left shoulder.

"I'm sorry I hurt you here. Didn't realize just how sensitive you were."

"M-My nerves are hyper conductive anyway. Oh!" He arched his back in pleasure, squeezing his eyes shut.

"If my wife comes in here…"

"Y-You can let her p-pet me too," the Doctor gasped out, his words followed by a languid moan. "I thought you all liked me being a pet."

Angie's fingers stilled. "But you're a person too."

"A person who needs you to touch me!" the Doctor snapped. He couldn't believe that he was letting this pleasure take over his mind and desires, but it was just so good.

"What the hell is going on in here?!" The Doctor guessed that the door had been slammed open, but it was hard to tell in his state of euphoria. It was definitely Tea's voice.

The Doctor moaned and tried moving towards Angie as he stopped.

"Oh, I-I thought you were…" Tea sounded uncomfortable, and even with his eyes closed, the Doctor could practically see her blushing.

"I would never think of it." Angie rose from the bed, his touch leaving the Doctor altogether. "His left shoulder is just really sensitive is all."

"That sensitive?"

"See for yourself."

The Doctor grew eager as he heard Tea moving towards the bed. He shifted towards her a little.

"Oh, yes please."

What she gave him was completely unexpected. It wasn't a gentle caress, a hard slap rather that sparked pain through his nerves. The Doctor arched his back and screamed, but couldn't move other than that.

"Tea, what was that for?!" Angie sounded shocked.

"You told me to test it out." Her voice was defensive.

"I didn't tell you to hurt him." Through his daze, the Doctor felt Angie's weight on the bed again. He shivered as his hand returned to his left shoulder, gave a quiet whimper. The mix of pain and pleasure was just so strange.

"Can I trust you not to hurt him while I go see the Justiciar?"

"I think you have to worry about Aggie rather than me."

The Doctor heard Angie sigh, but he was too lost in the clouds to really comprehend the ongoing conversation.

"What's her problem now?"

"She doesn't like him being in the house, especially not in the guest bedroom. She was the one who put him in that chair in the first place, and that's where she wants him to stay."

"Just keep an eye on her. I'll go when he's asleep."

"Hmm…" The Doctor wasn't capable of words. He was tired. He could feel his consciousness fading away. Such a wonderful way to fall into sleep, with all that pleasure dancing gayly in his nerves.

"Sleep well, Doctor."

 

The Doctor was awoken by the sound of someone stepping into the room. He blinked open his eyes, feeling groggy.

"Angie?"

"I'm not my shameful father," came a girl's voice. Aggie. He felt a sharp prick in his neck.

The Doctor carefully rolled onto his back without cutting himself. Aggie stood over him, spear pressed against his neck. Her dark eyes held a murderous look.

"What are you doing?" Fear twisted his stomach into knots and made his hearts race. "Have you come to kill me?"

Aggie tightened the spear against the Doctor's neck, drawing a gasp out of him. It had broken his skin.

"Good guess."

"Why?" He knew that he should be doing something else other than talking, but he was too weak. Maybe he could try to deter her with words.

"Because I can't stand you being here!" she hissed quietly. "I can't believe my father put you in a bed and bandaged your wounds!"

"You know, I could just call for help."

"You'd be dead before my mother came in here."

"But I thought you were going to kill me anyway."

"I'd rather hurt you first."

The Doctor's eyes went wide and he raised his hands to grip the spear, but Aggie stopped him.

"If you touch me or my spear, I'll stab out of one your eyes."

"Oh." The Doctor lowered his hands, now shaking. "Good thing you didn't want to do that in the first place. Not very smart of you though, to come in here. If you hurt me, I'll scream."

"Not if I can help it." Suddenly, Aggie's spear left his neck, and he felt cloth being shoved into his mouth. He tried giving a cry through the fabric, attempted to kick out at her, but his movements were weak. He shook his head vigorously to get away from her, but before he knew it, the gag was tied. It completely filled his mouth, touched the back of his throat and went down a little ways, and wrapped around the back of his head. There were terrified tears in his wide eyes as he choked on the fabric, wishing to free it from his mouth.

'Why is this happening to me? Somebody just give me a reason why.'

The Doctor shivered when the blankets were thrown off of him. Aggie now had a long knife in her hand, and the blade came to rest on his wildly heaving chest.

"Maybe I should cut you open," she whispered. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

The Doctor shook his head wildly, raw terror skipping in his eyes. Nonetheless, he felt Aggie's knife pierce his flesh. All he could manage was a grunt, and he flailed his legs wildly, trying to kick out at her. He wished he could scream as the blade continued its way down his chest to his stomach. The slice wasn't clean because of how he fought, but he had to get out of this somehow. He breathed heavily through his nose, tears spilling down his cheeks. He tried to scream, but the fabric in his mouth and throat choked him, adding to his discomfort.

Aggie withdrew the knife one she reached the hem of his trousers, and the Doctor could feel his blood spilling out from the gash, hot on his currently unmarred skin. He was terrified of what Aggie was going to do to him next.

"Stop moving!" she hissed.

The Doctor grunted and tried to curl in on himself as her elbow suddenly came down to smash into his groin. Pain sparked up into his stomach and a sob tried to crawl its way out of his throat.

'Angie, please come back soon,' he pleaded mentally. 'I need your help. Please.'

 

Angie was instantly allowed into the Justiciar's audience chamber. It was a large room made of woven branches and leaves. The Justiciar sat across from the wooden doors in an intricate wooden throne, looking regal in a gown of green embroidered with golden leaves. Her son, Ven, (Vengeance to the Doctor Forever,) was standing beside her, and it looked like they had been in the midst of a conversation before he entered.

"Not with your pet, Anguish Will Make the Doctor Scream?" The Justiciar raised her eyebrows in question.

"I came here to talk about him," Angie said as he approached the throne. He gave a slight bow before her.

"There is nothing more to be said about him," the Justiciar said. "We must only wait for him to die."

Angie ground his teeth at that. He finally admitted that he didn't want him to die, and not just so that he could keep him as a pet. He was a person, a person who deserved to be set free.

"I don't think that he should." Angie straightened to meet the Justiciar's eyes.

"Why not?" Ven suddenly snapped, taking a step towards Angie. "Remember what he did!"

"But we can't remember! He didn't do it to us!" Angie jabbed a finger at his chest for emphasis.

"Our ancestors suffered because of him." The Justiciar's eyes sparked with anger.

"But we're not suffering now." Angie spread his arms, gesturing to the chamber they stood in. "Look at where we stand. Look at us now, how far we've come. This is our home and for good or for worse, he gave it to us. He must be set free."

"And let him commit other crimes?" Ven asked. He laughed incredulously. "We're keeping the universe safe from him! We don't know what other things he's done!"

"We are not the peacekeepers of the universe," Angie said, wishing that he could reason with these people. He understood of course why they couldn't see past their hate. He still couldn't believe that he had. "We must let him go. He doesn't deserve this."

"But we could be," the Justiciar stated, leaning forward in her throne, gaze menacing. "We could be saving countless others by making him suffer for his crimes, by killing him. What brought about this change of heart? Did he manipulate you?"

"No." Angie curled his hands into fists at his sides, trying to repress his anger. "But I know him better than the rest of you, and I know that he doesn't deserve this."

"Alright." The Justiciar relaxed in her throne. "Why don't you go ask him what other things he's done then?"

"It doesn't matter," Angie said, stepping closer to throne, determined. He had to win this argument!

"Do I have to worry about you letting him go without my permission?" The Justiciar's eyes grew stern, and Angie crumbled under that gaze. He looked down at his feet.

"No, no you don't. I-I just want your permission-"

"You will not have it!" she interrupted. "I'll have him put under someone else's care since you seem to have grown weak."

"I haven't." Angie forced himself to meet her eyes again. "I just understand him. Let. Him. Go."

"I'll let him go when he dies. I'll leave him with you for now to let you prove yourself." She waved a hand to dismiss him. "Get out of here."

"But-"

"Go! And do not forget your name!"

Angie took a few steps back. "Well, then my name is revoked." With that, he left, anger seething inside of him.

'Stupid Justiciar. Stupid Ven. Stupid society! I can't believe I live in a place like this!'

He strode quickly through the halls of the Heligan Tree, avoiding conversation with anyone he knew on the way there. He didn't want to talk to anybody. Everybody was absolutely horrid if they believed that the Doctor should die for something he did to their ancestors.

'But what of his other crimes?' Angie realized that there must be more, just like the Justiciar said.

'I can talk with him when I get back, unless he's still sleeping.'

Angie was glad to have reached his house, and he entered with a sigh of relief. Then he made his way to the guest bedroom where he had put the Doctor. He hoped he liked the bed.

'Of course he does. He hasn't had such comfort in over a week.'

Angie stopped to listen in the hallway, realizing that it sounded like there was a struggle inside the room.

'What could possibly be going on? Tea said that she wouldn't let Aggie into the room.'

He hurriedly shoved open the door, and the sight he walked in on shocked him. The Doctor, covered in his own blood, straddling Aggie on the floor, her knife to her throat. Her right wrist was broken all at the wrong angles.

"Stop!" Angie stormed into the room, grabbed the Doctor by the shoulder and shoved him away from Aggie. He laid a hand on his daughter's shoulder to keep her from attacking the Doctor. "What the hell is going on?!" He looked to the Doctor for an answer, but realized that he was gagged. Giving Aggie a stern look to keep her in her place, he went over to the Doctor where he leaned against the bed. He knelt in front of him, untied the gag, and yanked it off of his mouth, surprised by the ball of fabric that followed. The Doctor choked and coughed once it was out. It seemed to have gone down his throat. He was breathing deeply from his mouth.

Angie looked at the terrible gash in the Doctor's abdomen with worry, then looked to his daughter, who had sat up, cradling her wrist to her chest.

"He broke my wrist!"

"Most likely for good reason! What were you trying to do?!"

"Hurt him and then kill him! I can't believe you put him in a bed, father! He's supposed to be in that chair! He's supposed to suffer! He's supposed to be dead!" There were tears in Aggie's eyes, which surprised Angie. His daughter never cried around him if she could help it. He understood that it made her feel vulnerable to show such profound emotion around others. "How could you?!"

"Aggie, he doesn't deserve to die! We need to let him go!"

"Oh, and does the Justiciar agree with you?!" she snarled. "Is everyone starting to love him as much as you do?!"

Angie ground his teeth. His daughter was being frustrating. He didn't know who to tend to first. The Doctor would bleed to death if he was left this way, but his daughter… He couldn't leave her hurt like this, even if she had tried to kill the Doctor.

"Aggie, let me fix your wrist." He made his voice grow gentle, reaching out his hand.

Aggie stumbled to his feet, anger burning in her eyes. "Don't touch me!" She abruptly darted out of the room.

"Aggie!" Angie stood, about to follow her, but then he remembered the Doctor. If his daughter didn't want his help, he could at least tend to him. He turned and found him slumped against the bed, eyes closed. He hurriedly knelt in front of him.

"Doctor?" He placed his hands on his shoulders. "Doctor?"

'Dammit! He's unconscious! Lost too much blood!'

"Tea!" he called. "I need your help!"

In a moment or two, his wife came running into the room. She gasped when she saw the Doctor.

"What happened?"

"I'll explain later. You have to help me. We have to get him to a doctor."

"But-"

"I can't just let him die, Tea!" He looked to his wife, eyes desperate and sorrowful. "He doesn't deserve it."

"Okay. I'll help you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people of the Heligan Tree find out about Gallifrey.

"Please, just let me go in and see him." Angie tried brushing past the man that guarded the door to the Doctor's hospital room, but he was restrained by a hard grip on his shoulder.

"You are not allowed." He was shoved a step or two backwards.

"I'm his bloody handler!" Angie shouted, throwing up his hands in outrage. "Just let me in!"

"The Justiciar said-"

"I don't give a damn about what she said! Let me through that door!"

Angie glanced at Tea when he felt a gentle hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"Maybe we should just go home. It's useless."

Angie frowned, then looked back at the door. It seemed so easy to reach, yet it was unattainable.

"I want to make sure they're taking care of him," he murmured. "I don't want him to be hurt anymore."

"There's nothing we can do about it, Angie. Let's go home." Tea's voice was pleading.

With a heavy sigh, Angie turned to head back to his house. He felt helpless, and he couldn't imagine how helpless the Doctor must feel.

 

The first thing the Doctor noticed was that he wasn't in a bed anymore. There was hard wood underneath his back, like he had been rested on a table. He was too weary to open his eyes, and there was a horrible stinging and aching in his abdomen. He breathed a quiet moan of distress, wondering if anyone would hear and come to help him.

"He's awake." The voice was distinctly male and unfamiliar. Where was Angie? Where was he?

The Doctor groaned in irritation when he felt a nudge in his right shoulder. Why couldn't they just let him sleep? Why couldn't they put him back in the bed and leave him alone?

"Barely," came another voice, also male. "Wake up, Doctor."

He tried rolling away from the irritating voices, but he was stopped by the crippling pain in his abdomen. It tore his breath away and he was left laying flat on his back.

"Go away," he moaned. "L-Let me sleep." His voice died out into a murmur.

"You've slept long enough." That was the first male voice he had heard. "Open your eyes."

The Doctor forced himself to do as he was told. He was met with glaring white light and the faces of the two strangers gazing down at him. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness.

"W-Who are you? Where's Angie?" His voice betrayed his fear. Unfamiliar place, unfamiliar people. What were they going to do to him?

"I'm Blood Will Spill From the Doctor," one man said. He had brown hair and a large, distinct nose set in between eyes that nearly looked black. He showed his teeth in a terrifying smile. "Most just call me Blood."

"And I am Torture for the Doctor," the other man stated. He had a more attractive face than the other man, framed by shoulder length blonde hair. His blue eyes, however, were like cruel, piercing shards of ice. "Call me Tor."

The Doctor swallowed hard. The way these two men looked at him frightened him to no end. It was like he was prey that had been caught and they were now playing with him.

"What are you going to do to me?" His voice was little more than a frightened whimper. He wasn't ashamed of it. How was he supposed to fake courage when he had been in situations like this for over a week, when he had been hurt beyond comprehending?

"Oh, a lot of things, Doctor," Tor said. "A lot of things. Would you roll on your stomach for us?"

Feeling a sudden burst of defiance, the Doctor jerked up and spit in Tor's face. He instantly received a hard punch from Blood, which sent him back onto the table with a thump, the edges of his vision going black.

"Fine. I'll do it for you." Tor grabbed the Doctor and he was powerless to stop him when he started rolling him over. He gasped when he was laying on his stomach, wound pressed against the wood of the table. He couldn't find his breath through the pain. "Blood, the rope."

"I-I thought I was supposed to be tortured in the chair," the Doctor panted.

"You will be," Tor said. The Doctor stiffened when he felt coarse rope wrap around his ankles. "But it'll be fun this way, so up close and personal, hurting you by our own hands."

"Please tell me this isn't being filmed." The Doctor didn't want his dignity to be ruined for a fourth time.

"Nope," Blood responded. He came around to the front of the table and grabbed the Doctor's wrists. He pulled his hands under the table and tied his wrists tightly together. There was nothing he could do to fight. "Just the three of us."

"Where's Angie?" he asked again. There was a quiver in his voice.

"Home," Blood answered. He straightened and patted the Doctor on the head. "You're not his anymore."

'No! No, no, no!'

Tears burned in the Doctor's eyes and he let them slide down his cheeks. What point was there restraining him? He was left to the mercy of these two men and he would never see Angie again. It was strange to think that that saddened him, but it did.

"So, I'm yours?" he asked tentatively.

"Mine," Tor answered. The Doctor flinched when he felt something slide gently over his back. It felt distinctly like a riding crop, but they didn't have horses on the Heligan Tree. It had only been made to hurt him. "The Justiciar deemed Angie too weak to handle you." Tor chuckled. "He was a tough man until you came along."

The Doctor gave a cry as the riding crop suddenly hit him hard in the back, probably hard enough to break skin. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself against the pain.

"The Justiciar wants to know if you've committed any other crimes, Doctor," Blood said from the side. He sounded like he was taking pleasure in watching this.

"Why?" the Doctor managed to get out. He jerked and yelped when Tor hit him again.

"You are not permitted to ask questions, Doctor." The riding crop caressed his bare back and he shivered. Then it hit him again. "What other atrocities have you committed?"

"I did what I did to your ancestors for good reason," the Doctor gasped out. "They were trying to wipe out an entire race!"

"And what of you, Doctor?" Tor struck him again and he gritted his teeth to hold in a cry. "Are you really a valiant angel?"

"I never said that I was." His voice was tight with pain. "And neither are you."

That remark earned him an even harder hit than the ones he had received before. He hadn't even finished his scream when he suddenly felt fingers in his hair and his head was wrenched up at an uncomfortable angle. He opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with Tor.

"I'm hurting a criminal, so I must be."

"An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind," the Doctor quoted. Gandhi had always been the giver of good advice. He'd met him once. He had been a brilliant man.

"This would only be an eye for an eye if I did the same to your own people."

Those words hit the Doctor hard right in the hearts and he choked back a sob. He tried to harden his gaze, but his feelings were betrayed by his quivering bottom lip. Tor looked at Blood in confusion, then back at the Doctor.

"What happened to your people, Doctor?"

"N-Nothing."

"Then stop sniveling!" Tor smacked him hard in the face with the riding crop, but held his head in place. He did the same to the other cheek, then went back to the other one. The Doctor lost sense of time among the stinging blows, and he breathed heavily when it was over. He could feel blood making its way down his cheeks. It was hard to see out of his left eye.

"Tell me of your crimes, Doctor."

"No." The Doctor spit in Tor's face, proud of himself for having done it once already. It showed that he wasn't broken yet, that he still had his defiance.

Tor angrily wiped his face on his sleeve and let the Doctor's head rest back on the table. His neck ached.

"Let me know when you're ready to tell." And Tor started hitting him, hard, all over his back and legs. The Doctor screamed as his skin broke and he fought against the ropes that held him to the table. It was no use. He wished for…

"Angie! Angie, help me! Please!"

"Angie's not here, you coward!" Tor yelled. His words were accentuated by more blows. "How easily are you going to give in?"

"Never! How long can you hit me for?!"

'Come on, Doctor, you can do this. You can do it. You're not to tell them about what you did to Gallifrey.'

Tears streamed down his cheeks at the thought. Oh, these people had no idea. Why were they making old pain resurface?

Minutes passed where the Doctor didn't spill a word, and Tor finally stopped hitting him. He was panting in exertion.

"Okay," he said. "We'll just have to do something else."

"I won't talk," the Doctor panted.

"Good. Then we'll just keep hurting you. Blood, there's a burner in here, right?"

"Yeah," the other man answered. "Want me to boil some water?"

The Doctor knew that Tor had nodded because he could see Blood move around the room, grabbing a pot and going over to a sink.

"Where are we, exactly?" the Doctor asked out of curiosity. Strange things to have all together in a room, unless he was in a kitchen, but that couldn't be likely given the lighting.

"None of your business." The Doctor yelped as Tor hit him once more with the riding crop.

"Why do you want to know if I've committed any other crimes?" the Doctor asked. He was terrified, but genuinely curious about all of this.

"To see if we're doing the universe a favor by keeping you here," Tor answered.

The Doctor fell silent at that. Would they be doing the universe a favor by keeping him here and then killing him? He'd done so many horrible things and he was capable of committing countless more.

'But think of all the good that you've done. You've saved so many lives… But I've taken so many too.'

The Doctor's body heaved with a hard sob that made the table rattle. He closed his eyes as Tor glanced at him in question, letting tears brim over onto his bruised and bleeding face.

'Gallifrey. My own people.'

"What is it, Doctor?"

He faintly heard Blood chuckle over his wailing, but he was lost in his own torment.

'So many dead. So many. My family. My… My children… My wives…'

"Probably just scared is all."

The Doctor's crying was interrupted by a gasp as Blood game over and jabbed at the wounds on his back.

"And he should be."

"I'm-I'm not…" He couldn't finish, trailing off into sobs that he tried to keep quiet. He was afraid, oh he was very afraid, but that wasn't what he was crying over. He hated these people. Why were they making him remember what he had done?

'2.47 billion.'

He remembered counting that number, the number of children he had killed. He had the ability to freeze a moment in his head and look at it from all different angles and zoom in and out, like a camera. That's how he had done it, like there had been cameras all over Gallifrey in that instant before it had exploded.

"Doctor, speak up." That was Tor, his voice harsh. "What is it?"

"I-I…"

"Yes? What did you do?" It sounded like Tor was clinging to every word, knowing that a confession was soon to come.

The Doctor took a deep breath and said very quietly, barely audibly: "I killed my own people. All of them." He had stopped crying all of a sudden, just like that. Saying it made it hurt worse, but tears weren't going to get him anywhere. And now these people knew.

The room was silent except for the Doctor's labored breathing. He could feel shock and horror coming off of the two men on either side of him.

"Blood, go tell the Justiciar."

"And what about him?" The Doctor was poked in the shoulder.

"He's coming with me."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie sets his mind on helping the Doctor.

Blood rushed out of the room, leaving Tor and the Doctor alone. Tor went and turned off the burner, and the Doctor heaved out a sigh of relief. He really didn't want to have boiling water poured over him.

"Now what?" the Doctor asked, voice hoarse. He couldn't believe that he had spilled that information, and now they were going to know. They were all going to know.

"You're going to your special chair." Tor walked out of the Doctor's line of sight and he heard a door open. In a few moments, three more people crowded the room. He picked them out as guards. They all held spears and wore decorative wooden armor.

"I won't let you take me!" the Doctor spat. He fought hard against his ropes, rekindling the burning of the wound in his abdomen.

"Oh, I know." Tor's next words were to the guards. "Do you have the sedative?"

"No!" The Doctor nearly knocked the table over with his struggling. He noticed a syringe in Tor's hand as he came over to him.

"Be still," Tor ordered, "unless you want this to hurt even more."

"I'll be still when I'm dead!" He had to get out of this, someway or another. It didn't seem very likely though.

Tor roughly grabbed him by the hair and shoved his head down hard on the table, nearly breaking his nose. The Doctor grunted and struggled, but it was no use. He gave a small cry as the needle was jabbed into his neck.

"You know," he panted, "this isn't going to work on me."

"That's why we have more." Tor withdrew the needle from his neck and he was instantly pierced with another one. The Doctor hissed, but didn't struggle. Now he was starting to feel a bit groggy. He couldn't let it take him.

"Still not working," he mumbled. He admitted that it was, but not to its full effect.

At that comment, another needle was jabbed into his neck, much more roughly. He jerked and tried to move his head away, but Tor held him tight.

"Now is it working?" He could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Um… Yeah…" It was hard to get the words out. The Doctor's eyes slid closed, but sleep didn't fully take him. He was incapacitated though, and he should have been panicking, but the sedative drowned that out.

There were voices that he didn't understand, and he faintly felt the ropes getting untied. Next thing he knew he was being unceremoniously dragged down a hallway. He had completely forgotten where he was being taken, but he knew that he should fight. He could barely move though, could barely even think. Then finally, unconsciousness fully took him.

 

The Doctor was vaguely aware of pain in his body. He rolled his head to the side and moaned a little. Why was his sleep being interrupted? He tried shifting to get into a more comfortable position, but he was held in place.

'What now?'

"Come on, Doctor," he heard a voice sing from somewhere across the room. "Wakey wakey."

The Doctor moaned in distress as a needle entered his neck and he tried moving away from it, struggling against his metal bonds. Where was he?

It came back to him as the liquid fire entered his body. He released a scream and then a sob.

'No! No! I'm back in the chair!'

He kept his eyes closed though. Seeing it would just make it so much worse. In that moment, he wished terribly that he was dead.

'Maybe I will be. Maybe this session will kill me.'

The pain finally left his body and he slumped in the chair, panting.

'I can't do this. Oh, someone please help me.'

"Just kill me!" he sobbed. "Please! Just kill me already!"

 

"Th-That's not true." Angie didn't know what to say, but what the Justiciar's son had just told him couldn't possibly be truth.

"It came right from his mouth," Ven said.

"You're lying."

"Angie, have you become so attached to him that you think him free of crime?"

"Get out of my house!" Angie pointed at the door.

"Fine." Ven held his hands up in a defensive gesture. "I just thought that I should come and tell you."

"And how did you get it out of him?" Angie asked. "He wouldn't just say that. Maybe he was only trying to appease you."

"Oh, I had nothing to do with it. Some new caretakers of his. They're already doing a better job than you did."

"You're lying." Angie glared at the young man standing in his living room. He hadn't expected this kind of news. It had been hours after being turned away from the Doctor's room at the hospital, and he hadn't known what had transpired in that time, but a confession of something this awful couldn't possibly be it.

"Whatever." Ven pointedly looked around the room, then at the TV. "I see you're not watching."

"Watching what?"

Ven rolled his eyes. "Don't play dumb, Angie. Here, look." He grabbed the remote from the coffee table. "I'll turn it on for you." He flicked the TV on, and Angie was instantly met with familiar screams. He wanted to reach out for the remote and turn the TV off, but he stayed put.

Ven smirked at him and tossed the remote on the couch. "Have a good night."

As soon as Ven left, Angie went to grab the remote to turn the TV off, but he stopped himself. What if the Doctor didn't live through this. What if he was never going to see him alive again except in these horrid moments that were being broadcasted? He sat down on the couch and hit the mute button with a shaky hand. He could no longer hear the Doctor's screams, but it didn't help seeing what was happening to him. He couldn't tear his eyes away though.

'If I hadn't left the house he wouldn't be like this right now.'

'But why do I care? Ven said that he killed his own people.'

'Well, he must be lying. The Doctor wouldn't never do that.'

'Don't pretend you know him, Angie. You don't. You kept him as a pet and had only barely begun treating him as a man, and now he's taken away from you.'

'That's because I'm an idiot. I left the house when I shouldn't have. I never should have left him alone.'

Angie was broken out of his thoughts by someone clearing their throat. He turned to see Aggie standing nearby.

"Dad, I want to watch TV."

"There's nothing good on." He flicked it off at those words. He couldn't watch this anymore. It just made him feel so guilty. "How's your wrist?" He could see that it was in a cast, and she wore it in a sling hugged to her chest.

"Don't talk to me. Just give me the remote." She held out her good hand for it.

"There's nothing on!" Angie snapped, standing.

"Then what were you just watching?" Aggie snared.

"I just want to make sure that he doesn't die, okay!" Angie yelled.

"You shouldn't care! Give me the remote!" Aggie grabbed for it, but Angie took a step back. He refused to raise a hand to stay his daughter, but he could certainly dodge her.

"I should because he's a person!"

"He disproved that long ago!"

"You weren't even born yet! None of us were! We were just raised in this stupid corrupt society that made us hate him for no good reason!"

"Dad, give me the remote!"

The way Aggie shrieked that made Angie pause. He suddenly noticed the tears in her eyes. She felt like he was betraying her.

"I-I'm sorry." He handed it to her and sat down heavily on the sofa with his head on his hands. "I'm so sorry."

Aggie sat down next to him. He felt her good hand on his back. "No, dad. I should be apologizing."

"No, no." Angie shook his head and looked at her. "It's just the way you were raised. And I raised you. I'm the only one that has to take the blame." He leaned over and gave his daughter a hug. It felt so good to hug her after all this. He thought that he was going to lose her trust forever.

"Dad, you have to do something about this."

"I know." Angie squeezed his daughter hard, then stood. "I'm going to." He turned to go, but Aggie grabbed his hand.

"Dad?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Be careful, and, I love you. I know I haven't been acting like I do lately, but I really, really do."

"I promise I will be. And don't worry, sweetie." He gave her hand a squeeze and smiled at her. "I know. I love you too."

With that, he left the house.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. The Doctor manages an escape, but was it worth it?

The room Tor threw him in was white, an uncomfortable, glaring white that hurt his eyes for the first minute or so. The door was slammed shut and then it seemed to fade into the wall, no frame, no knob, no little slit of space that was usually under doors. It was gone and he was trapped, here in this room that held nothing but white. The floor was white, the walls, the ceiling. White, fluorescent light burned down on him from the ceiling, so bright that there was no room for him to cast a shadow. There was nothing except for white.

The Doctor had of course heard of this kind of room before. It was sometimes used on Gallifreyan prisoners and he had luckily never been in one until now. It was created to deprive whoever was placed inside of any sensory input, to drive them mad, to injure them mentally. He was already growing scared in here, observing everything and realizing that he couldn't place exactly how far away the walls were or where they even started. The corners of the room were not any different from the rest and he couldn't differ between anything at all. He might as well have been blind.

'No, I'm not.' He looked down at his hands to prove this to himself. Yes, they were still there, a stark contrast against the complete nothingness around him. He could feel the floor, could take a step and it would be there, but its appearance was disconcerting. There almost didn't seem to be a floor.

His tears had dried on his face, leaving his skin feeling sticky and clammy. He wondered what was going to be done with him when the Justiciar found out about his people, what he had done to them.

"Perhaps they will actually kill me this time." He spoke this out loud. It was terrifying to not hear a single thing except for the slight hum of the lights. No one ever realized how much noise the world around them made until it was gone.

Feeling hopeless for the millionth time in such a short span of it, he sat down in the middle - he suspected it was the middle - of the floor. Movement hurt, tugged at the stitches that ran from the groove between his collarbones to his pelvis. The wound was a perfectly straight line that had sliced his belly button in two. He frowned, realizing just how many scars he would have if he ever got out of this. He honestly hoped that he wouldn't. Recovering would be as equally painful as being destroyed, if he could recover. He finally admitted that he was broken, that he wanted to cower and hide and cry, do whatever these people said to avoid pain. He would try to be defiant however. He couldn't make it look like he was broken. They would take satisfaction in that. He couldn't let it happen.

"I want to leave," the Doctor whispered. He whispered it because anything louder would have turned into a hopeless sob. "I want my TARDIS. I want Clara. I want my life back." He hugged his knees to his chest and put his head down, tears streaming down his face. A quiet sob racked his body, the movement pulling at his stitches. He didn't want to cry. It hurt. His entire body was in pain and it was only making it worse.

He closed his eyes, but even through his eyelids he could still see the white. It was so bright and terrible. It burned his eyelids and he covered his face with his hands with a loud sob that tore one of the stitches. He could see the shadow of his hand, see the color of his skin. The light was too much. Even with his eyes closed it was still there.

The Doctor almost didn't care about the blood that was running from the open part of the wound, the gash that opened and closed with his breathing. He had become so used to the sensation of his own life fluid leaving him and rolling still warm over his skin that he was almost indifferent to it. That indifference scared him. It was a terrible thing to become used to such a sensation.

He curled his body despite the pain and put his head between his knees, greeted with the most darkness that he would ever receive in this room. In that position, he waited for the eternal darkness that was no doubt coming to him.

 

The Doctor didn't know how long he had been in the white room. He could usually sense time almost down to the second without a clock or a watch, but this constant white and lack of sensory input was confusing him, distorting his sense of time and feeling. What he knew was that he felt an alarming amount of frustration, a pent up rage that seethed under his skin. He wanted to see something other than this terrible white, to hear something other than the hum of the lights above him. And he wanted to sleep, but it was impossible in a room this bright. He knew that, hadn't even bothered trying. The white would keep him awake and begging for something more.

'So strange how the brain craves input,' he thought, stretching out his hand. He would look at himself from time-to-time, just to make sure that there was something in this blank, blinding nothingness.

Then he rubbed tiredly at his face. He was exhausted and his wound ached and throbbed. It had stopped bleeding long ago an he had been careful not to rip anymore of the stitches. His cheeks were aching with dried tears.

To have some sort of noise, the Doctor began humming to himself; not loudly, however. That would seem frightening somehow in the oppressive silence. It would be strange to defeat this silence, so instead he kept his voice low and let it lay on top of him like a hundred tons. He was alarmed at how fast such a room seemed to be driving him mad. He hadn't imagined it to work so fast.

'Well, perhaps only for a human. I thought I would last longer. I do have a superior brain.'

He started as the door suddenly slid open. He jolted to his feet as fast as he could and made it to the other side of the room before he even knew who had entered. He pressed his back against the invisible wall and faced the doorway, breathing hard. He could see color out there, past the doorway, but there was someone in his way. He couldn't escape. The man was wearing a green robe with the hood drawn up to hide his face and he stood there speculating him. The Doctor could feel his eyes.

"Doctor, is it true?" The hooded figure spoke with Angie's voice.

"I-Is what t-true?" he stuttered. His ears hurt from the sound of Angie's voice and his own.

"Did you…" The figure paused, as if contemplating what to say next. "Did you kill your own people?"

"Why should you care?" the Doctor asked. He spoke quietly, not ready for a full intrusion into the silence. "You abandoned me here."

"No, I didn't." Angie shook his head and pulled down the hood. "I tried getting to you, but I wasn't allowed in your hospital room."

The Doctor winced at the volume of his voice, which was probably normal, but each word stabbed into his head like a hot knife. He put his head in his hands and murmured: "Talk quieter. It hurts."

"Sorry," Angie apologized, voice now almost a whisper. That was much better. The Doctor took a few deep breaths before raising his head again. Angie was taking off the robe, left with his tunic underneath. He handed it to the Doctor. "This is for you."

"Why?" The Doctor asked anxiously. How had Angie gotten in here at all? Had he been sent as a trick?

"I'm helping you escape," Angie whispered. He didn't seem to want to pry about what he had originally asked, didn't want to change his course of action. He shook the robe. "Take it."

The Doctor stood contemplating those words, rolling them over in his mind, looking around each corner of them to see if they were a lie. He found that Angie was being sincere. So, he took the robe. He tried putting it on, but moving his arms and shoulders tugged at the wound in his abdomen. He winced and Angie came over and helped him with it. Once he was decently covered, Angie pulled up the hood for him.

"Now keep your head down. You don't want anyone to see your face. Can you walk alright?"

"Feeling kind of dizzy," the Doctor muttered. It was so strange to hear things, to see something other than himself and this white.

"I'll help you." Angie slung his right arm over the Doctor's shoulders and pulled him a bit close to support him better.

"Won't this look suspicious?" the Doctor asked.

"I have something in mind if we get caught," Angie said. "Do not worry."

"Won't stop me from doing it. Let's go."

The Doctor staggered out of the white room on Angie's shoulder. The door slid shut behind them and he stopped, blinking, finding himself in a darkened hallway. He could make out the tints of green in the leaves around him and the grass beneath his feet, and the mixed browns in the branches. It made his vision reel and he couldn't go a step further. He closed his eyes, welcomed with real darkness that wasn't tainted by hellish white light.

"Thank you," he whispered to Angie.

"Don't thank me until I have you safely to your TARDIS. We should move on."

Taking a deep breath, the Doctor opened his eyes and stared hard at the hallway in front of him. The sight made him dizzy, but with Angie's support, he continued on down the hall, letting him lead the way. He averted his eyes to the ground, more to keep with a constant sight rather than changes in scenery and color than to not be recognized. He suspected that such a thing would have caused him to faint.

"You are not afraid of being caught?" the Doctor asked quietly. They were still alone and it was still rather dark. They were in a part of the Heligan Tree that had never been populated. It's only use had just been for that white room to torture him.

"Do not speak," Angie chided.

The Doctor pursed his lips in resignation and they continued on. He hoped his bare feet wouldn't make him stand out.

'Not everyone on the Heligan Tree wears shoes though,' he told himself. He had noticed that quite a few of them went barefoot, so that gave him some comfort. It wasn't altogether abnormal.

As they continued on, light began leaking into his vision and he whimpered quietly. He didn't want the return of light at the moment. It hurt his eyes more than all the colors did, stabbed a pain into his head. He gritted his teeth against the pain and discomfort, leaned a little bit more on Angie, and continued on.

They were walking in silence for a long time before the Doctor sensed other people around them, caught sight of other feet treading the ground. The space was lit now, but not naturally from the sun. The streets of the Tree were lit with torches and braziers - it must have been nighttime.

"Angie, who's that with you?" a friendly voice called. Angie stopped, signaling for the Doctor to turn slightly to face the speaker. He kept his head down, trying to make his demeanor look shy. What did Angie have planned?

"Oh, a friend of mine," he responded coolly, bringing his arm down to the Doctor's waist, holding him almost affectionately.

'I see what his idea is.'

The other person, a man, laughed. "Why are you two sneaking around?"

"Well, um…" Angie scratched nervously at his neck, making it look like it was for a completely different reason than it really was.

"Oh, I see," the other man said. The Doctor swore he felt him wink. "Don't want your wife to know that you swing that way, is that it?"

"No, that's not-"

"Then why is there a man on your arm?" The speaker turned to the Doctor. "Too stunned from being caught to talk?" he teased.

"He's shy," Angie butted in before the man could question the Doctor further. He pulled him closer against him.

There was silence, in which the other man most likely nodded.

"Alright. I won't pry. Have a good night."

"And you won't tell anyone?" Angie asked.

"'Course not. Secret's safe with me."

"Thanks."

They continued on, the Doctor and Angie both a bit shaky from the interruption.

"That was a good idea," the Doctor whispered in his ear. Angie gave a smile to keep up the ruse. They were out in public now and had to uphold it.

"I just really hope no one tells Tea."

"Then tell her the truth," the Doctor said, keeping his lips close to Angie's ear. He leaned his head a little to make it look like he was kissing at his neck rather than whispering to him. "How far are we from the TARDIS?"

"About a mile's walk," Angie responded. "We'll get there."

A mile. That would take up more time than the Doctor could afford. The longer he was out here, the easier it would be for him to be discovered. What if they went to take him from the white room and found him missing?

All the colors and sounds were increasing the ache in his head. His steps wavered with dizziness and his vision was blurring. All the sensory input was so much after almost absolutely nothing in that little room. He felt like he was about to faint, but he had to keep going. He had to make it to his TARDIS.

The Doctor and Angie's passage was interrupted a couple of more times and they pulled off the same ruse. Some were more prying than others, but not once was the Doctor's hood lowered or he forced to speak. Pretending to be Angie's shy, secret male lover seemed to be working.

"We're here," Angie finally said quietly to him.

The Doctor attempted to straighten himself. He had been stumbling against Angie's shoulder and attempting to make it look like he was just lost in love or something else silly like that. Really, all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep, let his mind readjust to everything around him.

He brought his head up slightly - still low enough to hide it - to look at his TARDIS. His hopes sank when he saw that it was covered in vines from the threshold of the door to the little bulb on the roof. He had forgotten that the Tree had captured his ship as soon as he had arrived.

"What are we going to do about the vines?" he said. They were alone in the clearing, not even a guard in sight. They had probably thought not to waste their time in placing any because they believed that they would always have him securely locked up.

"I'll try talking to them to see if they will let the ship go," Angie said. "Why don't you sit down and I'll get to it."

The Doctor didn't question the fact that the Tree would understand him and let Angie help him sit on the ground. Then he went over to the TARDIS and began murmuring to the vines.

The Doctor laid back in the grass and closed his eyes. He knew he shouldn't allow himself to keep his guard so low, but he couldn't help it. His headache was causing him to barely see anyway. He found himself dozing off when suddenly, an alarm went up throughout the Tree. He sat up, hood falling off, and looked frantically around. The alarm didn't have an electronic sound; rather, a series of deep, ringing bells.

"Damn it! They found you missing!" Angie began to talk more frantically and loudly to the vines. A few of them were reluctantly curling away from the TARDIS.

The Doctor struggled to his feet and came over.

"Come on!" he shouted at the vines. "The Justiciar wants the ship for inspection!"

The vines, large and small, green and brown, began to pull away from his TARDIS faster, slithering back into the ground.

Footsteps suddenly sounded in the clearing. The Doctor and Angie whipped around to find guards, spears ready, rushing towards them.

"We found him!" They were shouting excitedly.

"Go, go!" Angie shouted at the Doctor.

The Doctor grabbed for the door handles, tried pulling the doors open, but they wouldn't budge. He looked to find some vines still clinging to them.

"Angie! The vines are blocking the door!" He began desperately tearing at them, but his struggles did nothing. They stayed stubbornly in place.

"I told you to release the ship!" Angie snapped at the vines. "Come on!" The vines were reluctantly moving away from the handles. The guards were now in throwing range with their spears.

"Angie, it's too late!" the Doctor cried hopelessly. "Just go! Get out of here!"

And suddenly Angie was in front of him, hands gripping either side of the door frame. The color had drained from his face and his eyes were wide in shock. It took the Doctor's weary mind a moment to figure out that there was the tip of a spear protruding from his chest.

Angie didn't say another word. His eyes lost something, a light in them, a soul, and then he slumped to the ground.

"Angie!" the Doctor cried. He realized that the man had jumped in front of a spear to save him. Another such spear went towards him, but he dodged it, only getting grazed on the arm. It impaled itself in the TARDIS door.

So close to escape. He couldn't stop just because… Angie wouldn't have wanted him to.

Tears in his eyes, the Doctor reached his arms up and tore at the last of the vines. He wrapped one arm around Angie's body and pushed one of the doors open with the other, falling to the cold floor of the TARDIS. The guards had given up throwing their spears and were now rushing towards him. He scrambled into the TARDIS, Angie in tow, and slammed the doors shut, hurriedly locking them. Though there was no way anyone could get through those doors once they were locked, he still didn't feel safe. He felt too close.

The blue-green light in the Time Rotor at the center of the console flared to life and the rest of the lights came on. He gave a cry of pain at the sudden sensory input. The TARDIS seemed to understand and instantly dimmed the lights.

The Doctor slumped to the floor, feeling utterly exhausted. Some of his stitches had torn at his movements. His head ached and his limbs were tired, but nothing compared to the feeling of defeat and anguish that swept over him when he looked down at Angie. Angie's body.

His sightless eyes stared up at the spiraling metal on the ceiling, arms flung out. Blood trickled from the hole in his chest, the spear still in place. With an angry sob, the Doctor took the shaft and tore it out, throwing it a few feet away.

"Angie?"

Utter silence except for his heavy breathing and the hum of the lights. He knew he was dead, but he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't be dead. This was not what he deserved! This man had learned to accept him and had been so close to befriending him. He had set him free. He did not deserve to be dead on the floor of his TARDIS, his blood leaving him in streams that were slowed by the lack of a beating heart.

Suddenly there was banging on the TARDIS doors. Forgetting his injury and fatigue, the Doctor staggered to his feet, knees, (still healing,) aching. Too close. They were too close.

He rushed over to the console, hands shaking, his own blood and Angie's dripping from his hands. Tears blurred his vision and his body felt hot and flushed, adrenaline boiling in his blood. He didn't even really think about he was doing, relieved when he heard the familiar grinding, wheezing sound of his ship taking flight, no matter how it hurt his head.

Then he collapsed to the floor, crying, screaming. Everything hurt and his chest ached unbearably with pain. Angie was dead on the floor of his ship, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He sobbed. "Why did you help me, you idiot?! I'm sorry!"

The Doctor crawled over to the man - who he had hoped to one day befriend - and laid his head against his chest, bloody as it was, and wrapped his arms around him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! You didn't deserve this!"

Suddenly, there was a knocking on the door: a soft, hesitant knock. He had landed somewhere in Angie's house. He couldn't just leave and keep his body, not let his family know what had happened.

The Doctor stood, pulled the robe more tightly about himself, and wiped his dripping eyes on the sleeve. God! It even smelled like him! He had been in close enough proximity with him for a long enough time to learn what he smelled like.

Angered by this, he tore the robe off and laid it over Angie's body. The knock came again, a little more certain this time.

"D-Doctor?" That was Tea's voice.

'Oh god, she's going to think I killed him!'

With quite a struggle, the Doctor lifted Angie into his arms, more tears filling in his eyes and a sob dashing free out of his throat when he realized that he was still warm. He had been alive mere minutes ago and here he was… not.

Nearly losing his balance, the Doctor opened both doors with his foot and carefully stepped out. He was sobbing uncontrollably now, blubbering in "I'm sorry," whenever he found the breath.

They were in the dining room and Tea was looking at him astonished, looking at Angie's body. Her jaw fell open, but tears did not come to her eyes yet. She couldn't comprehend what was happening.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! T-Tried to h-help m'escape, s-spear. N-Nothing I-I-I c-could d-do!" The Doctor was hyperventilating now, body, once hot with panic, now going cold with shock. "S-s-sorry!" Angie's body nearly slipped from his arms but Tea caught part of his weight and silently helped the Doctor carry him over to the dining room table.

Tea looked at Angie's white, motionless face, then lowered a hand and closed his eyes. She dropped her head and a horrible scream came out of her mouth. The Doctor's guilt nearly ate him alive right then and there.

"H-He was t-t-trying t-to h-help," the Doctor stuttered. He wanted Tea to understand. He didn't want her to hate him more than she already did.

"I know!" she shouted at him, lifting her head. Her eyes were alight with aggression. "But go before I forget and kill you myself!"

The Doctor was stunned into silence by this outburst, breathing labored.

"He-"

"Go!" She lowered her head again and took Angie's lifeless hand in hers. "I know what he was trying to do." Her voice was nearly a whimper. "And I wish I could blame you for it."

"Mom!" That was Aggie's voice, coming from somewhere else in the house. "Mom, is everything okay?"

"I should tell them." His voice was raw.

"Just go, Doctor."

"I'm sorry." He came over, gave Angie's other hand, now growing cold, an affectionate squeeze and went back to the TARDIS, tears in his eyes. His guilt was ripping a hole in his chest, preparing to devour both his hearts. He wished there was more he could do, but he knew that he had to go. If he didn't he would just become trapped here again.

Silently, the Doctor padded across his now bloodstained floor to the console, put in the coordinates, and put the ship into flight. The noise it made wasn't reassuring this time. Something felt utterly wrong about it. He shouldn't have left. He should have stayed, done more to help the family whose lives he had ruined.

"I'm sorry."

Just as the TARDIS landed, he collapsed to the floor, curled into a ball, and did not move. There was only the shivering of his shocked body and his breathing to tell that he was still alive. Oh, how he wished he wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those of you who read! I've noticed that torture fics aren't always popular within this fandom, so I am grateful to those who stuck with it. I'm currently writing a sequel to this, a recovery fic involving Clara. I'll be posting that soon, called The Roots of Healing, so make sure to look for it. Once again, thanks so much!


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